


Time and Time Again

by Espressosaur, wishingwell44



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon Typical Violence, Drinking, Identity Porn, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Time Travel, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 39,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espressosaur/pseuds/Espressosaur, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingwell44/pseuds/wishingwell44
Summary: Steve Rogers finally made it to the top of the corporate ladder. Lead Researcher at Franklin & Nobel, and institution found everywhere in the 23rd century for Research and Development.Life was smooth until he receives a paper letter. However, paper hasn’t existed for 175 years. Steve delves deeper into the unknown, and ends up back in time for a mission that he is woefully unprepared for. That mission is to stop the very company he works for...and not to fall in love with the CEO’s son.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson, Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48
Collections: Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Not Another Stucky Big Bang, everyone! This is my submission for the challenge and I could not be more happier with this collaboration. I want to first thank Alexander's incredible talent to make this story come more to life and make it more whole with his art. I don't think this story would be what it is without his artistic vision. I want to thank also, everyone who helped cheer me on while I wrote this story these last, gosh, 10 months or so. Lastly, I want to thank the moderators over at the Not Another Stucky Big Bang Challenge for making this such an incredible process. 
> 
> It was a labor of love, and helped me escape during these past few months while working during a pandemic and working through a lot of personal issues and personal struggles.
> 
> I'm happy to be here posting this story, this upcoming week, with my cat by my side. 
> 
> So without further ado, I hope you enjoy this story.

_ “Good morning, Mr. Rogers,” _ the disembodied voice from above Steve Rogers’ bed. Steve took a deep sigh before opening his eyes to the faceless hologram waving back at him.  **S.A.R.A.H** , or the  _ Supercomputer Application RAM Algorithmic Home _ device, put up her brown hair and tapped the top corner of the window pane. “ _It’s 6:30 in the morning. Time to get up_.”

“Please stop calling me that. It’s just Steve,” Steve rubbed his eyes. “What’s the weather look like?”

“ _Hm_ ,” she hummed and then tapped the other side of the pane. “ _Not too great. Pretty cold for winter. 85 degrees_.” 

“Thanks.”

“ _ You’re welcome, Steve. Anything I can do for you before you get out of bed? Start the coffee? _ ”

Steve sighed and sat up in his bed, pushing the covers off of his body and swinging his body around to have his feet touch the cold floor paneling. 85 degrees. It hadn’t been that cold since he was a child. Work would be better. Less sweaty. Less.of his suit sticking to the small of his back. As soon as his feet touched the floor, S.A.R.A.H. spoke again.  “ _Today is December 6th, 2492. It is a Thursday. Sunrise started at 5:35am this morning, and will start to set by 5pm today. Same shift today?_ ” 

He got out of his bed and padded over to the bathroom. Steve leaned on the sink, and looked into the mirror. “Same shift.” The synthetic oxygen that he breathed in every day stuck to his lungs, and could feel the molecules on his face. His communicator buzzed. 

Another thing Steve hated. That device that was implanted in his arm since he turned 18. 

Gone were his days of drawing and design, and brought up on the days of control and order. Walk into work, spend the day in front of the computer, and leave. He would sit back in his chair at work, watch the day go back. Back then he was just this scrawny kid in the depths of Brooklyn, and he knew that being able to work,  _ to live _ , would never happen. He grew up sick, kept in clean spaces, and was only able to focus his time and energy into the things he was passionate about. 

Art. Drawing. Sketching. 

However, when things are taken away from you, you start to want it more. 

Steve started to send in his application for the company when he was 16, secretly, of course. His adopted parents would have never let him, especially after what his mother told them before she died. When he was able to ride the bus, it would pass by.  _ Franklin & Nobel  _ A research facility for...everything. From medication to technology. 

There was no response, even after submitting his application six more times. When Steve turned 18, the communicator implant appointment was set. He was sure he was going to get chosen for the marketing sector. Live his life behind the billboards, and keep in the world of anonymity. 

Something was different when he entered the Communicator office. Steve went up to the desk and let the secretary know that he was here for his assignment. She tensed, and told him to sit in an empty chair, and someone would come and take him to a separate office for briefing. Steve was there for hours upon hours. People coming in, and leaving with a new device on their arms. It was until the last twenty minutes until Steve was finally called. 

He got up, exasperated and almost annoyed how long it took them. Steve was led past the official room, and into another office, only to be greeted by a smiling face. The people under this program would go into extensive training to become top officials within the system to help defeat the enemy. The scientist held up the communicator.

“So, Steven, what do you say?”

Steve twiddled his thumbs, trying to go through the endless possibilities. “Why me?”

“Usually, this part, the people chosen usually say yes or run out of the office.”

“I saw the people arrive for their communicators. Why not them? Why me? Why not Bobby McHill? He is the captain of the football team, probably valedictorian and I’m pretty sure was the perfect person for the R&D team. Or why not Shayna Domnick? She can bench like 200 pounds and is an archery superstar perfect for security.”

“We have been watching you, Steve Rogers. I mean,” the scientist sighed. “That sounded very creepy.”

“It is.”

“We saw your applications...okay,” the scientist rubbed his eyes. “There’s no way that this isn’t on the creepiness factor, but we know you. We have been watching you. You’re a good person, from what we could find in old preserved documents is that you are the best fit.” 

Steve sat in the chair contemplating, and after a few minutes, he pulled up his sleeve on his left arm. “I say, yes.”

“Fantastic,” the scientist’s eye’s crinkled with glee, “but the process is a lot more complicated than that.”

* * *

Steve’s communicator buzzed again, lifting himself out of his memories. He put on his suit, and flattened his tie. He was happy that he didn’t need to carry anything else, like other professions. Being a high ranking researcher helped him get through the day without much. It was just himself, his communicator, and his suit. 

Steve got out of his apartment in less than ten minutes. Right out of his apartment was the subway system that ran underneath all the low lying buildings above ground. People would take one look at him and recognize where he worked. His communicator was different than most. More advanced, due to the information that it held, versus the standard issue communicators. 

As he did before, Steve continued to shrug them off, and just people watched before the train hit the end of the line.

* * *

“Good morning, Steve,” Jim said as he leaned on the table and sipped his coffee, “you look like shit.”

“Thanks? I think,” Steve arched an eyebrow as he sat down in his chair. 

“Nah, Steve looks like he got laid,” Dougan said from the back of the room. 

“Maybe he went to the new bar downtown. Had a few drinks to kind of de-stress after his shift,” Falsworth questioned. 

“Or we can stop assuming and let Steve live his life, whatever it may entail,” Gabe piped up as he walked into the room. 

“I knew I could always trust you, Gabe,” Steve said as he typed his password to the computer to start the day. The screen lit up with pictures, maps, and files. All was normal in the game of production. Steve and his team, nicknamed the Howling Commandos (Steve thinks it’s because all the other teams think that they just will not be quiet for once) fought their way to be one of the best teams, each bringing in a quality that could not be found elsewhere. 

Steve’s communicator buzzed again, and once more Steve ignored it. “Alright, team,” he turned his chair around to face everyone, “you ready for today’s tasks?”

* * *

Steve shucked his suit as soon as he closed his apartment door, and placed his food into the processor. He zoned out in the hum of the machine, taking it’s time to do its job. 

“ _ Steve?” _

“Yes, S.A.R.A.H.?” Steve sighed. He didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to eat, shower and sleep. Too many people talking to him, asking questions that he couldn’t answer. Too much going through his mind. 

“ _ Did you hear me, Steve?” _

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, S.A.R.A.H. No. Can you repeat?”

“ _ Absolutely. You have received 6 emails from an undisclosed source _ .” 

“It’s probably just spam, you can delete them,” Steve said as the food processor ended.

“ _ My system doesn’t detect spam in it’s coding. May I open the most recent one, and read it back? _ ”

“Uh,” Steve grabbed his food and poked his fork in the mess that was somehow deemed edible, and moved to his couch. “Sure.” 

“ _ Steve, I am here to inform you that you have been avoiding our emails all day, so maybe the handwritten letter might get your attention. _ ”

“Hand written?” Steve said to himself before setting down his food. He moved closer to the door and got down on the floor, trying to feel for anything other than the old linoleum. He didn’t even know what he was looking -

Paper.

He had never felt paper before. 

It was rough, and smooth. He picked up the envelope. 

Steve remembered his history class back in high school on ancient studies, how people would use letters made of trees. He remembers wishing that the planet still had them. From the slides they looked majestic, their movement swift, and here he was holding something just like it.

“What the hell is this?” Steve breathed. 

“ _ An envelope. Patented in 1845 by Edwin Hill and Warren De La Rue. The first papermaking process dates back to somewhere between 22 to 250 CE by Cai Lun in what was called China _ .” 

“Yes, S.A.R.A.H., thank you for this history lesson. My more pressing question is how did someone write a letter on paper when trees have been extinct for 175 years?”


	2. Chapter 2

Steve tapped his communicator on the subway platform, allowing whichever door he needed to walk through to get to the place that had been sending him emails. 

Emails and a letter. 

A paper letter.

Steve brought up his holographic responder and asked what exactly was going on. All he received was a pass for the subway. The door furthest to his left hissed open, and Steve cautiously walked through. The door was old, and rusty, however it had been opened within the last 24 hours. 

It just looked like no one cared about that door. Or it wanted to seem inconspicuous. Steve, although put on a small week long leave to recover from the failed mission attempt, still put on his suit. He didn’t want to take any chances that he wasn’t going to be hit. This was still unknown, and Steve wanted to be ready, whatever the chance. 

Steve led himself through a tunnel. Lights lined the way, flickering, making Steve walk cautiously between intersections. By the end of the tunnel, Steve stood on a platform and saw a stall. He placed his arm in the stall, tapped his communicator device again, and heard a machine turn on.

Then a bright light from the inside of the tunnel appeared ; it moved closer, and the sound got louder, until the subway car glided into place, with the door perfectly in front of Steve. It opened, and he cautiously took a step forward.

“Hello?” Steve popped his head inside the door. The train car was empty. He placed his hand into a fist, the leather crackling under the new movement. “Hello?” Steve asked again, as he walked onto the train. As soon as his second boot hit the train floor, the doors closed.

“ _Shit,”_ Steve swore. The train lurched forward, and Steve’s body followed, forgetting the one rule of the subway. 

Always hold onto something. 

Steve fell, and slid on his back all the way towards the door leading to the next car. Once the train stabilized, he grabbed onto the closest seat, and pulled himself up. 

He finally looked around. 

The car was...empty. 

Steve turned around and stood up, still holding onto something, and looked through the window to the next car. 

Empty. 

The subway system was controlled by engineers in an office somewhere underground. He was alone. All alone.

Alone on a train, moving somewhere. Steve turned around trying to look for something to tell him where he was going. The red LED lights that strobed above the train car’s doors only said: 

**HELLO Steve Rogers**

“Who are you?!” Steve yelled to no one in particular. He sat down, almost defeated. 

**HELLO Steve Rogers**

**SEE YOU SOON**

The train kept moving, and there was nothing he could do. He was at a loss. Steve sat down, and watched the buildings move by and let sleep take over.

* * *

Steve woke with a start, and quickly took in his surroundings again. He padded his suit pocket to make sure the -

The letter was still there. It was almost like a grounding device, even though every time he touched it it made him feel speechless, as though he was floating. Steve adjusted himself in the chair, and could feel the train slowing down. 

Ten minutes, from when he first felt the train to jerk, something new popped up on the screen.

**WELCOME Steve Rogers**

The train slowed down, and eventually lowered itself onto the bed of the tracks. With a hiss, the doors opened and Steve stayed put. 

“Can you hear me?” 

The sign just blinked again. 

**WELCOME Steve Rogers**

“If you know who I am, you know what I’m capable of,” Steve said.. “If you know what I am capable of, you know that if you point anything in my direction, that it will come to bite you in the ass.” 

The sign just repeated those three words again. Almost to say, we hear you loud and clear. Steve got up from the chair, and tentatively walked to the door. Air was breathable. 

“Hello?” Steve’s voice echoed. No response. He walked outside, slowly, trying not to make too much noise. The platform was lit, but everything around him felt like a void. Lifeless. As soon as his second boot hit the ground, the door closed loudly, and the train lifted off of the platform and started it’s way back to wherever it originated from. 

“No! Stop!” Steve started to jog with the train, however the magnetized rails encompassed the train and it sped off, leaving Steve at the edge of the platform. 

Alone. 

He stood at the end until the light of the train was no longer visible, and turned around to face the lit platform. “Well,” Steve said to himself, “the only thing to do is move forward.” As Steve reached the end of the stairs, more lights clicked on. Steve turned around. The platform was now dark. Following the path that someone was giving him. 

A staircase was lit, and Steve followed. “This place is enormous,” he said to himself. 

“ _Not that big, to be quite honest_ ,” a familiar voice answered back. 

“S.A.R.A.H.?” Steve asked, and as soon as he reached the top of the staircase, an image appeared. A person. “...Ma?”

“ _Not quite_ ,” she smiled and lit up the rest of the floor. “ _I am her and not her at the same time. Funny how my name and your mom’s name matched up_.” 

Steve walked up to the image. She didn't move back as he approached the space, and Steve lifted his hand to touch what was in front of him. A pane of glass. "You;re a hologram." 

“ _Correct, Stevie_ ,” she smiled. 

“You don’t have permission to call me that.”

“ _Apologies, Steve Rogers. They just thought that this image, and her voice would be best to introduce you to this place_.”

“It’s incredibly invasive.”

“ _You’re not wrong, but you haven’t tried to stalk your next target. So, we can say you’re making strides with me, Steve Rogers. I do have to say, I am enjoying being more than just a voice in your wall_ . _She had great style._ ” 

“Where am I?!” Steve urgently asked. 

“ _Walk with me,”_ S.A.R.A.H. started to walk forward. The path lighting up as she moved. Steve did as he was told. 

Old habits die hard, he guessed. More staircases. She walked up each one, like she was real. Tears pinched the edges of Steve’s eyes. It was like he was a child again. Watching his mom as she took him upstairs to go to bed. He missed her. 

He really missed her. 

“How did they get her voice? Who is ‘They’? You haven’t explained anything at all.”

S.A.R.A.H. chuckled. “ _If my Accessed memory serves me correct, they have been sifting through data. Remember, Steve Rogers. Your whole life is online. Some accessible, some harder to access. This was a little bit harder to access. Your employers really didn’t want more people finding out that you are just as human as they are, and not a machine. Baby videos that your parents posted to their social groups online. Your first words. Your first steps. Your first visit to the doctors. Some of them your father was recording. Just to have memories to look back on. Some, because of documentation for the doctors. You’re a miracle case, Steve Rogers. Your mother had the nicest smile,”_ S.A.R.A.H. smiled. 

“She did, and you’re stealing that from her too.” 

“ _I’m not the one you should get mad at, to be fair. I’m just a bunch of ones and zeros,”_ S.A.R.A.H. retorted. “ _I am a mere guide, and her voice was taken so you can feel more relaxed rather than me sounding like the voice of God.”_

Steve didn’t even respond. Didn’t even want to respond. He wanted to get back to his home pod. His bed. 

They reached the top of the stairs to see, not a room, a warehouse. 

_“Welcome to Dynamos, Steve Rogers,”_

* * *

The place was huge. Cascading plexiglass walls lined the hallways. Each one encapsulating a room with different designs. Some with burnt orange carpets, some with simulated outside areas. Steve was in awe. 

“Wow.”

“ _I guess you haven’t seen it all,”_ S.A.R.A.H. smiled. 

“I guess not. How is this place connected with _Frankfurt & Nobel _?” Steve questioned, still walking through the hallway. 

“ _Dynamos is its parent company. Beyond corporate. Founded in 1895 by one Everette Flores. Was 19 when he founded the institute.”_

“...but what exactly is it?” Steve questioned, and was stopped at a door. He opened it to a mainframe computer, and two people sitting at their respective desks, and typing away. A man, probably the same age as him looked over his computer and widened his eyes. 

“Holy shit you made it,” the man said. 

The woman sitting across from him turned around, placing her bright red hair behind her ears and tapping the side of her head, presumably to stop the music that she could have been listening to. “Good job, Wilson. You got Steve Rogers to _Dynamos_. I hope he gives you a raise.”

“A raise? I deserve a promotion!” the man’s, Wilson’s, face lit up, and smiled. He got up from his desk, and walked over to Steve. “Hi,” he put out his hand. “Sam Wilson. Head technical leader at Dynamos Institute, and head of this project.” 

Steve shook his hand. “Hi,” he said, still confused. “Steve. Lead researcher at _Frankfurt & Noble _.”

The red headed woman walked over, and stuck her hand out as well. “Natasha Romanoff. Head of tech, and ex-sniper for the Manhattan division of War before parting ways.” 

“I thought you look familiar,” Steve mentioned. “Nice to see you again.” 

“I don’t know, Steve, or should I say Captain America, last time we met you were in the corner of the party, sulking,” Natasha walked back to her seat, and started typing again.

“Had a rough day,” Steve mentioned to Sam.

“...and the nickname?” 

Steve sighed, partly embarrassed. “Probably due to my shining attitude. ‘ _Star spangled man with a plan.’_ ”

“Yikes,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I wasn't too happy when I found out. It felt a little bitter.” 

“So,” Sam walked to the main room. 

“ _We’ll talk soon, Steve Rogers, I’m sure_ ,” S.A.R.A.H. smiled, and continued to walk along the path, before she faded out.

Steve turned around to say goodbye, but she was already gone. He felt dizzy. Too much was going on, and he had barely learned anything. “Before we go forward. What is going on? I feel like I’m just being dropped into existence.” 

Sam sighed. “The letter.”

Steve fished the letter out of his pocket. “This thing?”

“That’s it. Can I see it?” 

“You’re the one who sent it?”

“Not exactly. It was put into the postal circulation around 2021, and had specific instructions. Airtight container. I mean, it’s not perfect in the slightest, but we gave the instructions to one of our team members and told them to write to you the exact words. The postal system just did it’s job, since we know some form of it still exists today. That’s why it’s yellowing on the edges. Not perfect but…”

“Paper in the year 2292,” Steve said. “How?”

“Time travel,” Sam’s face lightened up.


	3. Chapter 3

“Time travel?” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed together. This,” Steve referenced the area, “isn't a movie,” Steve looked at the paper in front of him. “That would be impossible.” 

“What you’re holding right now, in your hands, is a piece of paper. Paper that hasn’t been on this planet for roughly 175 years, Steve Rogers. I mean, I did explain it, mere seconds ago, but let’s break it down,” Sam led Steve to the mainframe computer. “This massive thing here was built about...three hundred years ago? I think?”

“It looks so new,” Steve said.

“Regular updates, maintenance - a little spit to wipe the grease off.”

“Why do you always have to use that? It’s gross,” Natasha said from a distance. 

“ _ Anyway, _ ” Sam said, “We send messages to the past to people who have traveled to a specific era, decade or year to perform tasks that we are told to do and set up. Everette Flores was our first, because we were told by Everette Flores when he was 20 to send him back to start the company. Used your basic gambling routes, some that are a fluke, some not, to gather the money he needed, like any 21st century show would use, and badda bing badda boom, you got a paradox going. It’s a beautiful recipe.”

“Do you have a chair?” Steve sat down, sweating, heart racing, dizzy. 

“Shit,” Sam grabbed the closet one and placed it under Steve. 

“So,  _ Dynamos _ . Time travel company extraordinaire. That’s how you got the letter. It’s only by giving directions to people? How’d the people get there?” Steve rubbed his forehead.

“We put them in The Centrifuge.” 

“The what?” 

Natasha popped her bubblegum. “My turn,” She leaned on the desk near Steve. “So hundreds of years ago, scientists began to theorize if time travel would be possible. Their little brains, turned out to be big brains in some cases. One scientist theorized that if you got to a high enough speed one could potentially turn back in time. Some said black holes, some said cosmic strings, but we still can’t function in space without a life line for some fucking reason, so,” Natasha sighed, “centerfuge.” 

“Spinning around?” Steve asked.

“Yep,” she popped her bubblegum again. From her communicator she tapped a few places and images started to appear on her wrist. Diagrams, and videos to place. She tapped on one video and enlarged it for Steve to see. “When Dynamos started it’s testing, most of the ethical stuff was...pushed under the rug.Not many people survived the initial testing and  _ Dynamos _ became a tech conglomerate before operating underground for the Time travel part. Eventually,” Natasha sighed, “and I mean,  _ eventually _ , when technology finally became equal, we finally started rebuilding, but there was one problem -”

“Actively getting a person from point A to point B.,” Sam stated.

“Do you ever let me have it?” 

“Nope,” Sam smiled. “It’s just too damn good of an interruption.” 

“Yes,  _ that. _ Most donated their bodies to science, so people understood the risks.”

“The risks of dying,” Steve stated. 

“The risks of time travel,” Natasha stated back. “Then, the super soldier program started, and that was a fucking godsend,” she typed something into her communicator device and pulled up some faceless people, with big black letters across their files. 

**PASS**

“They survived?” Steve asked. “They were able to…”

“You can say it, it’s not a cursed word,” Natasha shrugged. 

“I understand that, but it’s still a little bit difficult to digest,” Steve sighed. “They traveled back in time?”

“Yep. Not even one scratch.” 

“But how can I survive? I’m not -” Steve started to speak. 

“We,” Sam paused. “We have information that says otherwise.” He opened up a draw, and slid across a tablet. Steve furrowed his eyebrows and slid the tablet closer. It was his medical file. Pictures of him,  _ his mom _ , and Dr. Erskine. The same man he got his communicator from. 

“I’m able to travel because of the medical program I went through as a kid?”

“It’s a common procedure, that’s why so many people are able to help. Not everyone was successful with the treatment. The people who were able to survive - the treatment was effective in enhancing and stabilizing genetic code.” 

Steve sat with the information for a few. “That...sort of explains the how. So why me,  _ specifically,  _ then? What’s my purpose?” 

Natasha looked at Sam. “You wanna tell him or me? I still have a lot more exposition before I have to get back to another coding session.” 

“I’ll take it up,” Sam crossed his arms. “We received some sort of communication that you were spotted. They knew your face. Obviously another agent but…” Sam sighed. “It’s so hard to explain. You’re there. Now. But in the past?” 

“My head is hurting even more,” Steve grumbled. 

“Time travel is exhausting.” 

“So. I’m there now. That’s how you know I should be the one?”

“Yes.”

“...but why?”

“ _ Dynamos _ received a message -”

“Not this shit again,” Steve rolled his eyes and got up from the chair. “We got a message from you, and to you, and we’re gonna use that as a telephone tree! So perfect. What a great system this is. Last time I got a telephone tree message, 30 people were throwing up in the streets. What a disaster that was. That mistake is on  _ me  _ -,” Steve’s breath became labored, and Sam and Natasha were quiet. “Fuck this, I’m out.”

“Time has already -” Natasha started to speak, but was interrupted by Steve slamming the door to...somewhere.

* * *

Steve sat down on a black leather couch. He was surrounded by kitchenware, and assumed he was in the lounge. 

A lounge built for two. 

Minutes later, a soft knock came on the door. 

“Steve?” It was Natasha’s voice. 

“They sent you to calm me down?” 

“Honestly, I think Sam sent me because he knows I can kick your ass,” Natasha sat down across from him. “I heard about the mishap.” 

“From your computers?”

“No, from the news, actually. I learn things in real time, too,” Steve was quiet. “Look, I don’t know what I said to convince you to get back in time. Paradoxes are weird, and they hurt everyone’s brains. That’s okay. Steve. This message we got could stop whatever is going on out there. It could stop...a lot of bad shit. The Historians figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“They figured what caused  _ Franklin & Nobel  _ to become the conglomerate that controls this world. It’s impossible now to divest in the corporation. I mean, you’re a lead researcher. You helped with everything from toothpaste to toilet paper. You’re going to be the one to stop it from taking over. From the start.”

Steve felt small. “What?” he responded, his voice not feeling like his. 

“We’re going to be the ones to stop everything.” 

“What about...what is it called...the butterfly effect?”

“I’m coding something to protect us from that, but I’ll explain it closer to when we get to where we need to be. I know everything is very secretive, but it has to be. We have to take steps to ensure viability of the project. I know that I’m a secretive person, but that’s just the way I am. That is what was chosen for me,” she held up her communicator. “It seems sketchy. I know. However, before we let you in, bit by bit, I just need to know, are you in or are you out?” 

Steve sat in his chair. Contemplating the risks, and rewards. Death, or being the hero that one knows about. “What about work?” 

“Extended vacation. If you accept, you’re on special assignment. They’ll put someone from your team in charge. Probably Gabe Jones or Jim Moritia.” 

“My apartment?”

“We’re going to set up a place for you here. I’ll explain more tomorrow about that as well.” 

“How long is this gonna take?” Steve questioned. 

“Well, the rules of time travel are never clear, so we have a projected goal of a month. Maybe, before we send you back to our predicted time.” 

“You think I’ll survive this? You think that I’m going to succeed?”

“No, I don’t,” Natasha said bluntly. “Right now nothing has changed, which means that you were either caught or you died. So you made mistakes.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve done this then?” 

“No,” Natasha sighed. “We have fragmented data that we collect but takes a long time to reconfigure to know what to tell our subjects and how to evade and proceed. Sometimes we fuck up too.” 

Steve put his hands on his head. “So there’s like a 12 percent chance I can do this, with fragmented data, and possible past Steve’s failures logged. What happens to the Steve they spotted once I am sent back?” 

“Yeah. That sounds about right. Not entirely sure, but we hypothesize that the Steve that is there now and the timeline he has created since forth landing back in time will crash and burn and cease to exist.”

“Morbid,” Steve sighed. “So what do I have to do?”

“Update the Historical Record, make sure information is widely known. Maybe do a few things else in the process. Are you in?” Natasha questioned, once more.

“Do I have any other choice?” Steve looked right back at Natasha.


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you sure I have to sleep on this thing? Will it even hold my weight?” Steve looked at the bed in front of him. He felt as though he was going to be sleeping in a museum. The carpet was bland and grey, but soft to the touch, the bed in front of him was made out of a wood composite replica making it look like something real.

“Yes, it’s metal,” Sam walked up to the frame and knocked on the material. “We want you to become somewhat immersed in the 21st century so you’re not walking in the street wide-eyed like you’ve never seen a domesticated cat before.”

“Cats were domesticated?” Steve turned to Sam.

“Dude, weirdest fucking animals,” Sam shook his head. “Anyway. Right now, we’re going to have you sleep. The bed might be too soft, so feel free to sleep on the floor. Tomorrow starts training.” 

“What about all of my stuff?” 

“It’s being transferred into _Dynamos_ storage. Whatever happens it’ll be safe and not affected by any timeline shifts.”

“How long has Natasha been working on that code?”

“About a half a decade. She’s close, though,” Sam sighed. “So, 23rd century clothes for tonight, tomorrow, 21st clothes and training.”

“Will I ever get to find out what I am doing?”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Sam sighed, and started to walk out of the room. “Steve?”

Steve turned around. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for sticking around.”

Steve pursed his lips, and nodded, before Sam closed his door. 

* * *

The bed was too soft. _Way_ too soft. This was merely ten minutes into trying to head to bed, The covers were made of some synthetic fabric, and when it touched Steve’s skin, he couldn’t get it out of his head that it reminded him of his time in the hospital. Everything was too bright, too soft, too...quarantined. He got up from the bed, and searched in the closet for something to use as a blanket that he was able to fall asleep under. He moved some hangers to the side and peeked behind the row of clothes, into the darkness of space behind. He felt something similar that his mother used to use - a quilt. Sarah, for a woman that grew up in the 22nd century loved things that were old. Loved items that could be loved. She used to mend together the old shirts that Steve would wear into a blanket, because she read that her ancestors used to do this as a way to remember the past. As a way to never forget what you did or who you were. 

The quilt was heavy and rough, and although he felt as though his life was being changed in a blink of an eye, a small smile flashed across Steve’s face.

* * *

“Rise and _shine!”_ was the first thing Steve heard the next morning, accompanied with one of the most annoying sounds Steve had encountered in the past few days. Steve’s eyes felt like they were ripped open to see Sam and a clock in his hands. Sam tapped the top of the clock, and turned off the sound. “Bed too soft?”

“Like a cloud. Felt like shit,” Steve sighed, and pushed himself into a sitting position, quilt still on his legs. 

“Are you ready to start?” Sam leaned on the door frame.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess so.” 

“Great,” Sam placed the clock on the dresser by the door. “Your home items have been delivered to our warehouse underneath, and your place is clean. We made sure to look for any letters or personal items kept away hidden just in case you forgot about them, but don’t worry we didn’t invade your privacy too much.” 

“Because my life is so adventurous.”

“Dude, I don’t know,” Sam shrugged. “Not my life. We only care about the future. Or past. Future-past...future.”

“Alright, I’m getting up.”

“Clothes are in here,” Sam tapped the dresser. “Time to start getting used to the clothes on your body.”

* * *

Steve walked out of the room wearing all the necessary items on the checklist. Denim pants, shirt, overshirt, socks and shoes. Steve looked in the mirror, and ran a hand through his hair, but his mind was blank. 

Or at least, he was trying to keep it blank. Steve smoothed down his jeans that didn’t need to be smoothed down and walked out of the bedroom. The whole warehouse was something surreal. Panes of glass that mazed through the floor so S.A.R.A.H. was able to function, the large mainframe computer that towered over the space, and yet there were just two people typing away at their computers, soaking up their caffeine. 

“So, these clothes weren’t put through an airtight container to last over two hundred years? Also, do you two just...live here?”

Natasha swiveled her chair and faced Steve. “No, and yes,” she took a sip of her drink. “Synthesized material made from plastic - normal clothing line, but thanks to fragmented data over the years of people we have sent back, they usually give us schematics how the machine should build them. How’re you feeling about them?”

“Exposed.”

Sam chuckled. “Every single time, it’s the same answer.”

“So,” Steve sat down in the closest chair he could find. “What’s on the day’s agenda? Crash course of history and then send me on my way tomorrow?”

“More like in a month.”

“What about the whole plan? Won’t it just become worse if we leave it alone?”

“It’s already a problem,” Natasha stated. “It won’t change what we do now.” 

“So...how long do I have to stay here?” Steve questioned.

“As long as it takes. We can send you back to any point in time with The Centrifuge.”

“Oh.” 

“Yep, that’s also the same answer people give. The trickiest part is not about learning the tech or understanding societal stuff, granted they were so ass-backwards then it’s going to be a little shocking how archaic they were. It’s the climate, the air. We’ve learned each time, air quality is different. You honestly might get high at points, even with your body function because of the amount of oxygen. I’ve almost stabilized a few rooms, and last will be your bedroom because you’ll be there the longest.” 

Steve didn’t answer, but just nodded. 

“First, we gotta tell you what’s going on, and why _Dynamos_ has to step in,” Sam got up and tapped a few things on a screen near the main frame. “We all know what this corporation is about. Money, power, land…or at least what is left of it. Historians though, recently discovered the pinpoint of the worldwide inception of the business. Why and how it began. Initially it started pre-World War II.”

“That long ago?”

“That long.”

“Why couldn’t Flores destroy it? Wasn’t he sent back to the 1890s?”

“He was, but we weren’t told to interfere, because it would change the course of history too much.”

“So, what do I do? Gather info and then share it? Seduce the CEO? _Kill_ the CEO? I mean, wouldn’t that change the course of history too much for that time for this time to function?”

“Now you’re understanding my original headache!” Sam clapped his hands together. “Historians found out that there was a facilitator in the mobilization of the corporation’s expansion. There was some correspondence, though, discovered...and that’s where you come in.”

“I come in to do...to do what? Data research? My own job?”

“Hit the nail on the head.”

“What?” 

“You’re correct, sorry, spent too long on an ancient slang article this morning,” Sam cleared his throat. 

“Do I have a specific time frame? Hours that it needs to be completed by? I mean if it works, the old timeline will cease to exist and a new one will take its place, so...how long?”

“However long it needs to take, but we’re hoping 6 months of your time,” Natasha sighed. 

“Okay,” Steve nodded his head, trying to take in the information presented. “This is a lot.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Have some breakfast, relax. We’ll get to the fun stuff later today.”


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a week since Sam and Natasha explained...little of what was going on, however what they missed was how cold the 21st century was actually going to be. When he woke up eight days ago, it was a chilly 85. A little below average for the standard mid-winter day. 

They left out the fact that getting accustomed to  _ 23 degree _ weather was difficult and cold, and only left Steve thinking about the non-serumed people that were subjected to this. 

“This is torture,” Steve gritted through his teeth. His arms were crossed, and the big puffy jacket and hat he was wearing was doing absolutely nothing to help his body level out.

Natasha pressed a button, and her voice echoed through the area. “ _ December 6th, 2020, cold snap. 23 degrees. Snow.” _

“Snow?!” Steve’s eyebrows reached the top of his forehead. “ _ Snow?  _ I’m gonna have to deal with snow?” 

“ _ Yeah, we’re sending you to a point in January, there could be snow. We can make it snow in your capsule.” _

“Yeah, no. I’m good for today,” Steve’s body started to stop shivering, but his breath remained visible. “Tomorrow.”

“ _ Good. How are you feeling otherwise _ ?”

“Still feeling pretty up in the air. A bit more grounded. Better than the first day with the 30 minute oxygen session.”

“ _ You were high as a kite.” _

_ “ _ ...and it felt pretty great, to be honest.”

Natasha laughed. “ _ Surprised the population really leaned on pot. They could have just breathed their own air _ .”

“A lawless land,” Steve dug his hands into his pockets. “So, how am I doing otherwise? I hate the cold -”

“ _ Like most people who lived in that area at the time _ .”

“The food is awful, and just tired. Any chance we are closer to the date?” 

_ “Steve, I’m glad you’re eager, but we have to follow the list _ .” Steve was silent. “ _ Trust me, though _ ,” Natasha flopped through her pages, “ _ you’re close. First Centrifuge test is tomorrow _ .”

“Can’t wait to utilize the puke bag for the first time.”

Natasha laughed. “ _ Can’t wait to watch you use the puke bag.” _

* * *

Steve tossed and turned in the bed. It had been a week since taking his first Cold-Snap test, six days since the Centrifuge test, and two days and twelve hours since being head first in his toilet. Natasha finished her code. The  _ Dynamos  _ institute was safe and protected again. Steve found out that they had to re-code each time they sent someone back. That’s how he never knew about this place - it was always lost to history. 

Natasha and Sam sat Steve down during the day, after his stomach calmed down. Six more days. Six more days of taking in as much information as possible. Six more days of Centrifuge testing. Six more days of whatever they had the dancing monkey do.

He sat up in his bed and switched on the lamp. 

“S.A.R.A.H.?” Steve said aloud. Nothing popped up on the glass pane in front of him. He sighed. “Protocol 20-8-5-18-1-16-25. Authorization Code under Steven Grant Rogers.”

“ _ Confirmed Protocol 20-8-5-18-1-16-25 under Steven Grant Rogers. May I send a notice to Samuel Wilson? As per protocol, none of the details will be discussed. Only a notice that the protocol has been activated. Is that okay?” _

“Confirmed,” he sighed. He hated data collection. 

S.A.R.A.H appeared on the glass, and pulled a chair. “ _ Hi, Steve Rogers. It’s currently 1:53 in the morning. Today is Wednesday. How can I help this early in the morning?" _

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I’m scared for this trip...mission. Whatever it is, I’m scared. I don’t know what is going to happen.”

“ _ Okay,”  _ S.A.R.A.H. moved her hand down the side of her side of the pane of glass, “ _ here are multiple sites to read about the fear of the unknown, maybe that can help you with your anxieties?” _

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s an A.I. of course it’s gonna just pull up websites,” he muttered. 

“ _ Would you like me to pull up more?”  _ S.A.R.A.H. smiled. It wasn’t just the standard preset, it was how his mom used to smile. The warmth, sincerity, was all behind the facade.

“No, but thank you,” Steve twiddled his thumbs. “Do you have fears?”

S.A.R.A.H. paused before answering. “I don’t believe I understand the question, Steve Rogers.”

“Just call me Steve,” he pursed his lips. “Does an A.I. have fears about the unknown?”

“ _Hm_ ,” S.A.R.A.H. adjusted herself in her seat. “ _ Possibly. I don’t think we have much to worry about since we are programmed, to a point. To be fair, I don’t think I have considered this question.” _

“No one has asked you?”

_ “Well, in the infinite intimations of myself that are set up throughout millions of homes, I’m sure that someone has asked me...but, not to me, personally. The A.I. system could possibly have fears.”  _

“What about?”

“ _ Hm,”  _ S.A.R.A.H. “ _ no longer existing, probably.” _

“So, in a way, death?” 

“ _ Yes, those are equatable. Is that what you’re afraid of, Steve? Death?” _

Steve sighed loudly. “Yeah. I mean, I thought I wasn’t afraid of it. I spent the better part of my childhood in the hospital with a less than 30% chance of survival. My mom, the real Sarah Rogers, died when I was in high school. I was fourteen. She got this extremely rare bacterial infection. I tried to feel as though I was bigger than death, that it wouldn’t take me. Acted impulsively. I mean, I still do, it’s in my blood, but I thought I wasn’t afraid of it because it had already taken my mom, dad, but yet skipped out on me. That’s why I’m scared. Because...”

“ _ The Centrifuge could just be another way to die.” _

_ “ _ Yeah, it could.”

S.A.R.A.H. sighed, but then smiled. “ _ Purpose and meaning are the driving forces of life. You felt as though your purpose was to follow your job. Do as what you are told to do. Which...in ways, you were correct. You are one of the best people in the R&D field, and don’t you retort with that one thing that really wasn’t your fault. You get stuff done. Death may be your fear, but you heard Natasha. You’re already there. This is your fate. Yes, there could be chances, but that is what life is. Just a bunch of chances. If you take that step, so be it. Death might be that chance, but at least you set your life out on a meaning, and re-imagined your purpose. However, don’t feel as though just because you have these things set out for you, doesn’t mean you can automatically shut off those fears. You can’t...and that’s okay. As much as we know the scope of time at  _ Dynamos _ , doesn’t mean you should change your attitude... that you automatically have to change.” _

Steve was silent for more than a few moments, looking down at his quilt. “Past, present, and future, you’re still you.”

“ _ Correct,”  _ S.A.R.A.H. shifted in her chair. “ _ Do you have anything else you want to discuss, Steve?” _

Steve ran his hands over his face, and sighed. “No, I think that’s all, S.A.R.A.H. Protocol 20-8-5-18-1-16-25 ending.”

“ _ Confirmed. Goodnight, Steve.” _

“Goodnight, Sarah.”

* * *

Steve sat at his desk in his room. At this point, he had been in his plexiglass training rooms for about 20 hours a day. He didn’t feel that he was floating, like the first hour he spent with the air, and felt a lot more comfortable with the simulated room that Natasha and Sam set up. He still had his communicator on, and an hour before, he received an email with more information for his mission.

New York, 2021. There was a file nearly fifty pages long that honestly made his head hurt. However, when the second file that was sent about the hidden science division that bloomed in the second half of the 20th century, Steve was intrigued. Steve read about the horrid things the division did, what they meant, and the brainwashing that they induced onto their followers and employees, both literal and the propaganda they produced. 

...and then it clicked. 

Steve transferred the email to his communicator, and walked out of his room to the next plexiglass pod, and knocked on the window. “ _ Sam! _ ” Steve yelled. “ _ Natasha! I need to speak to you!” _

Steve paced. Nervous. 

Sam and Natasha jogged up to the plexiglass pod and tapped the button to talk.  _ “You good _ ?” Sam anxiously breathed out.

“ _ The vital signs on your medical charts looked okay. Panic attack? _ ” Natasha tapped through her files on her wrist as she quickly walked beside Sam.

“Yes and no, to your question Sam, and honestly not sure, because I’m pretty sure you two knew this,” Steve brought up the highlighted part of his file to the plexiglass. “ _ Franklin and Nobel?!  _ I’m trying to stop the same company I work for?!” Steve’s voice became louder.

Sam rubbed the back of his head.  _ “Did we leave that out of the briefing sessions?” _

“ _ Yeah we left it out,”  _ Natasha shot back to Sam.

“ _ Intentionally or unintentionally?”  _

“ _ Is it possible to have done both?”  _ Natasha audibly sighed. “ _ Steve we were going to tell you. We promise.” _

“What? Two minutes before you put me into The Centrifuge?” Steve dropped his hands. 

“ _ Okay, I think it’s time we took a breather - _ ” Sam was cut off by Steve.

“Breathe? How the hell can I breathe when I’m scheduled to alter...everything?! This country runs on  _ Franklin & Nobel _ . I worked there for almost fifteen years.” Sam and Natasha didn’t respond. “How am I supposed to do this...this wasn’t what I was meant to do!”

“ _ But what if you were, Steve? _ ” Natasha said.

“ _ You think it’s time? _ ” Sam asked Natasha. 

“ _ When is a good time? _ ” Natasha asked back.

Sam put his hands in his pockets, and sighed. “ _ This is one of those strange paradoxical issues. The notice we got from the 21st century was from before you were born. We’ve, Dynamos, been waiting for a long time for this. So. We, again Dynamos, have essentially led you on your path _ .”

Steve sat down on the artificial grass in his pod. 

“ _ We broke him _ ,” Natasha pinched her nose. 

“I hate time travel. I hate old Steve,” Steve said out loud.

“ _ Old Steve has his own issues, most of it because he repeats his old mistakes. You’re not him. You’re not old Steve. You can do this _ ,” Sam said.

“Can I?”

“ _ We can only wait and find out. If he can do this,”  _ Natasha said. “ _ We know you can _ .”

* * *

They let Steve rest the next day, and the day after that. He took it easy, and kept reading and processing information. Whether the information was about Franklin & Nobel or about laptops in the 21st century. 

The days passed on. The 21st century air stayed on longer, the food became more consistent, and the tests in the Centrifuge became more intense. 

However, Steve kept working, and passing with flying colors. 

More green checks next to his tasks, and by the time he knew it, it was time.

“Tomorrow?” Steve sat on his bed, with Sam looking into the plexiglass pod.

“Tomorrow,” Sam put his hands into his pockets. “ _ 11:55pm, we flick the switch and by 12:00am you will be in grand ol’ New York City, January 1st, 2021. We will leave basic clothes enough for you to be warm. Records show it is around 40 degrees and just generally wet.”  _ Steve nodded. _ “When the task is complete, you will punch in a code given once our fragmented data shows that your task has been completed and that will put you back here, January 1, 2293 about 12 hours later. Just to make sure if you do actually alter history, there will be enough room for the ripple effect. It will be 12 hours for us, and an undetermined amount of time for you. Just let’s not make it 80 years. I want to grab a drink after all of this, _ ” Sam chuckled, and Steve followed.

“I think I can do that.” 

“ _Nice change of tone_ ,” Sam smirked. 

“Can I take the quilt?” Steve asked. 

“ _I’ll have to check the records to see if that’s okay, but once it clears, sure. Don’t want to have a robot uprising due to a fancy stitch pattern,”_ Sam joked and then they were both quiet. “ _We got clearance for you to bring a bag of synthesized clothes so you don’t look strange walking through the city, as well as train tickets and data to get you through the next ten years without an income. Some of it is true, some of it is false. The true stuff though will help you move along without it looking suspicious. One of our contacts on the 21st has sent us an archived report of your apartment and where to find keys._ ” 

“This is a lot to take in.”

_ “I  _ cannot _wait to not hear that for the next 24 hours_ ,” Sam deadpanned. 

* * *

Steve suited up. The bags of necessary items were already in the Centrifuge, waiting for Steve to take his seat. 

“Earth to Steve?” Sam snapped in his face. 

“Sorry,” Steve pinched his nose. “The air is so weird to breathe, I lost my focus.”

“You’re almost there. Ten more minutes. We just gotta do one more thing,” Sam held up a small square device. “This is your new communicator. It looks like a computerized watch. In your apartment there will be a computer. This computer will have a special port to place the watch and attach, and will allow communication through our fragmented data. That will be for emergencies and completion of tasks.”

“Reports will go through the archival email address,” Steve remembered his last briefing, “and follow the historical record for better information to complete my job.”

“You got it,” Sam smiled. He placed his glasses on and started the process to remove Steve’s old communicator. Steve closed his eyes, and felt the same types of pinching that he felt when the doctor was putting it on. Steve’s wrist felt ten times lighter. “It’s over,” Sam noted and Steve opened his eyes. 

“I haven’t seen that part of my arm in 14 years.”

“Call it a parting gift. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Steve gave a small smile, and Sam got up from his chair to inform Natasha, not before patting Steve on the back. 

“Ten minutes unitl Centrifuge,” Sam said before opening the door to the main room.

* * *

Steve sat in the chair, the door still open, buckling all of the safety equipment. He peaked out the door to see Sam and Natasha doing their checks. He got Natasha’s attention. 

“Are you doing okay over there?”

“No,” Steve cleared his throat, “but I’m already buckled in.”

A few more instrument checks were given but when Steve heard Natasha say “It’s time,” the hairs at the back of his neck stood up. He heard the clicks of the switches and the hum of the Centrifuge turn on. Steve gripped the seat handles, thankful that he already said his goodbyes to Sam and Natasha. 

“Good luck and Godspeed, Steve,” Sam saluted him from the observation deck from where they were located. 

“See you in 12 hours and five minutes. Don’t fuck up,” Natasha said, with a smile. The door closed with a hiss, and Steve closed his eyes. 

It was just like training. 

The pod started to shake, and he could feel the Centrifuge start to move, and move. It started to shake a little bit more and more, until he could feel that he had been moving faster. A large metal sound, something that he hadn’t felt or heard before occurred, and the pod jerked his body against the restraints.

Suddenly, the shaking stopped, but he could still feel the vibrations. Faster, and faster and -

Steve was still alive.

He could feel it in his soul. 

However

it felt like he was detached.

Mind and body not as one. 

Until they were again.

Steve could feel the pod moving slower and slower, until he felt the pod give one more final jerk.

It was two minutes before the door opened up.  Two minutes before Steve undid his restraints. 

Two minutes before Steve turned around in his pod and noticed the quilt, neatly folded up. 

Steve walked outside the pod into the cold damp empty warehouse, that had not a single living soul in sight. He took a few deep breaths.  _ This could be back then. Or now. Or it could be a simulation,  _ Steve thought. 

But then he remembered the detachment. Sam mentioned something briefly about the trip itself and that it was something that he would feel. Steve opened up the duffel bag, and changed into the clothes that were provided. He placed his suit at the bottom of the bag, and the quilt on top. The pod’s access keypad lit up when Steve’s fingers were near. Future tech, but it was off. Not quite future tech. Too advanced for now, but not as advanced as what he was used to. 

The door automatically closed, and the pod shifted downward to place itself into lock. He looked at his communicator and tapped in his code for the fragmented data to confirm entry.

Below his feet were a set of arrows that led to more arrows, on the floor. Steve didn’t have time to analyze that underneath his feet was paint. That underneath his feet was stuff that was discussed as something old when it was something as normal as ever before. 

However, when Steve was led to the platform, where he stood just a mere two-hundred and some-odd years in the future, it started to settle in that he wasn’t just playing games anymore, and when the train started to come down the tunnel, wheels screaming, and the sharp contrast of the yellow artificial light, his suspended disbelief became a reality.

He had traveled back in time.


	6. Chapter 6

The train, which ultimately Steve _knew_ was a train, pulled up to the edge of the platform, and the doors opened with a bit of a struggle. Someone in a blue uniform with a hefty amount of paper - _there’s paper_ \- in his right pocket, sighed as he saw Steve. He waved him on.

“Are you gonna get on? I don’t know when there’s gonna be another one of these. This is usually an added private stop,” the person said. 

Steve was quiet, and took his bag. He found the closest seat and -

“Bags on the overhead rack, please,” the conductor said to him in a slightly annoyed tone. Steve hoisted his duffel, and watched the inside of the tunnel move. It was maybe an hour before the train officer wandered back into the car that Steve was sitting in. 

“So,” the conductor leaned on the pole, “what’s that place that you came from?”

“What do you mean?” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed together.

“Some secret FBI stuff? CIA? Pentagon?”

Steve shook his head, more so the fact that none of the words meant anything to him, but the conductor took it as a response. “I think this train makes this extra stop once every two years or so. Always someone getting on, always someone getting off. There’s a rumor in the MTA that it’s the CIA.” 

“Guess the rumor is going to have to live on,” Steve said to the conductor without any inflection in his voice, but the conductor just cracked a smile. 

“That’s what the CIA wants you to think,” the conductor leaned off of the divider and walked back through the doors. “I hope you have a book or something. Or a pillow,” he looked at his handheld device - not quite the types of phones that Sam and Natasha showed Steve - and sighed. “Your stop isn’t going to be for another handful of hours or so,” he paused before closing the door. “Oh, and happy new year. 2021. It’s like we are living in the future or something.” 

Steve didn’t respond, as the train moved out of the tunnel and revealed more darkness. Steve looked at his communicator - the new one. 12:20am. Nighttime. His body was tired, his mind even more so. He leaned back in his seat, let his head rest on the seat, thanking that this time he didn’t need the gas to help him pass the time.

* * *

The train jerked, and Steve’s eyes opened. He steadied himself on the divider in front of him, allowing his breathing to go back to normal. Steve looked around. More people were on the train. More people were on their phones - those were the phones he was taught about - and panicked, slightly. He slept for a long time. Longer and deeper than he remembered. When his eyes adjusted to the sun that seemed so new, he finally got a better view of the outside world. 

Tall trees lined the train’s expressway, and people walked on the streets waving their hands at the cars that were on the ground. Buildings were taller and he could see birds fly through the sky. 

The sky.

The sky was gloomy and grey, but it was there. It didn’t feel as though it was burning or through a haze. The train went over the bridge, and Steve looked further down, only to have his eyes meet the rough waters below. 

This was something Steve read in his history books, but still felt almost as though flowing water was part of some fairy tale, but yet right now, he was seeing it for his own eyes. 

“Isn’t it fucking disgusting?” The person in the next seating pod laughed at their own hypothetical question.“Can you imagine how much gasoline and garbage is in that river?” 

“It’s the Hudson,” Steve just replied. 

“The view and the river is better upstate. You can go on one of those ferry rides that have booze. I’ve done that a few times with my fiance. Have you gone on one of those?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“It’s worth it,” the person grabbed their items, and got off the train platform. It was another 15 minutes before the train stopped again and the doors opened. People filtered out, hurriedly, as though they needed to catch the latest breaking news. Steve waited until each person was off the train to move but he didn’t. He just sat in his seat. 

A conductor, not the one from the beginning of the trip, walked up to him, and sighed. “Alright, buddy, you have to get off the stop. We’re here at Grand Central.”

Steve looked up at the officer. “What if I fail, though?” 

“Huh? Buddy, you gotta leave the train. I don’t care if you fail your latest Broadway audition. You have to leave.”

Steve got up from his seat quietly, grabbed his bag, and walked towards the door. 

“Hey!” the conductor caught his attention. “You dropped these” He held up a key, with a small envelope and a yellow card. 

Steve never had seen it before. “Oh, must have fallen out of my pocket. Thanks.”

“No problem,” the train officer said, as he watched Steve pocket the key. Steve tried to take a discrete deep long breath, and then walked out the door. The pathway smelled of something that he couldn’t quite put a place on, and the area echoed of other trains departing, but Steve could absolutely hear when the new train officer said his parting words.

“Good luck, Steve Rogers.”

Steve turned around quickly, but only saw the train close its doors, and start to pull out.

* * *

Grand Central. 

Steve stood by the wall, looking up. Looking up at the bright teal. The ornate detail of the constellations that stayed on the walls. Steve looked back to the crowded floor. People taking pictures. It reminded of the time his class took a trip to the site. At the time, it was practically just a foundation with a few remaining walls that barely stood up. The ceiling was in the process of being cleaned and restored. Steve could barely look over his classmates’ shoulder to get the full view. 

But Steve just stood and watched, because he could. He was able to see the skill. The craftsmanship. The artistry.

...up until someone practically body checked him, and only gave a slight wave with sorry. He didn’t have time to soak it in. 

He would have to come back. Steve made his way down to the 6 train underneath. His wallet held his yellow card - Metrocard. The note said to swipe it to get into the subways. 

Steve followed, the gate unlocked and he followed the signs for the train that he needed to take. 

The 4 train to the C train, and then a short walk.

At first it was crowded, and then it was not. Steve bit his lip, and chuckled to himself. 

Things were different. _Vastly_ , vastly different. 

But, also incredibly similar. Same type of travel, although it was archaic in nature. People still with their blank faces, emotionless bodies, letting the train move them from place to place. Steve felt like the odd one out without a phone or device with him. He did see some people with books, and he arched his eyebrow. Steve made a mental note to see if he could hold one sooner rather than later. 

To hold paper again.

* * *

Steve stepped out of the subway and followed the notes in the envelope where he needed to go. He wasn’t used to the sun. 

Or at least the brightness that was behind the thick clouds.

He winced when he walked up the stairs, however not in pain. Just. More shock than surprise. 

“Nothing stronger than a winter sun,” some random person idly said beside him. Steve couldn’t even respond, the random person melted away into the thin crowd heading the other way. Steve continued walking. Continued following the directions that were in his hand. He ended up at an apartment building. 

Rang a buzzer, as that is what he was told, and opened the door, when it was unlocked. 

Steve walked up the three flights of stairs, and got to the apartment door that was his designation, opened it, placed the bag on the floor, got to the chair by the computer, sat down, and cried. It was the release Steve needed. After what felt like forever at the _Dynamos_ facility, he made it to this fully furnished place in Brooklyn.

2021.

After Steve composed himself, he finally looked around the apartment. Few windows, a door to a bedroom and bathroom, a sizable living room and a kitchen that seemed like something out of the...well...21st century. 

Steve got up and opened the fridge.

Fresh food.

None of the dried out plates that were always somehow in Steve’s place, and nothing that was probably not organic material. Steve walked around some more, listening to the creeks of the hardwood floor underneath his feet, and ended up at the window. Seeing the cars. Seeing the people that didn’t understand how they would survive practically the end of the world.

Steve watched the people walking by his place until the sun went down - the already grey skies became darker, and until the last person he saw was a dark haired man, with something glinting off of his arm, finishing up his run.


	7. Chapter 7

Days had gone by. Most of Steve’s days were still acclimating to the era. No holograms - no S.A.R.A.H. 's to tell him the time or to keep him company. It was nice, and Steve’s own personal Hell and historical Heaven at once. 

Steve managed to stick the duffel bag in one of the closets and lay the quilt over his bed (discarding the one that came with the apartment to the Closet of Stuff ). Tucked away in the bottom of the secret compartment was a binder filled with the historical record that was most important to him. In the envelope was enough cash and money to get him set up for all the things that he needed to be a semi functional member of the 21st century. 

Steve tried to not think that it was a severance package to whisk him off into his retirement before he died in this era. 

The apartment he lived in the past few days had been quiet. The programs on the T.V. were too long, and the content was mostly political. He just wanted away from all of the war programs that were blasted into their homes without consent, away from the political intrigue. Steve just wanted to take a break, and breathe in the fresh air.

...and he could.

Steve set the historical record that he found himself gripping, and not looking at, to the side and looked outside. Sun was out, and the people that were walking around his place looked like they had medium sized winter coats on. Steve put on his, grabbed his keys (a mistake that he would try and not do again) and headed out. He looked at his Communicator Watch that told him the time and had a soft blinking dot on the top right corner. Steve ignored. Too early to be contacted.

He opened the door to be greeted by the chilly winter-y air. Steve tugged at his jacket, and started to walk through the city. He was finally able to appreciate the sun after all. Even though the air was cold, the warmth of the sun was a delight - a treat. Steve felt more alive than usual. 

Steve ended up in a park. Not crowded, but not horribly empty. Few people passed by with hot drinks, or books in their hands. Some singing along to the music that poured into their ears. Steve just relaxed. In the brief time he had actually looked over the historical record he was in the clear to be able to relax until February.

Steve’s watch started to buzz. He looked down and noticed that the small blinking dot was going at a much faster pace. Steve furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to figure out how to stop the buzzing. It was vibrating in short spurts, and well, it was particularly annoying. 

Steve fumbled with the small device on his wrist, silently cursing to himself not  _ fully _ reading the instructions that Natasha gave to him. Steve tried to remember where the piece of paper was. 

In a trash bin? By his bed. 

By his bed  _ not _ in this century. 

“Goddamit,” Steve muttered. 

“New Apple watch?” someone asked next to him, breathing heavily. Steve looked over, the device still buzzing frequently, to see a guy in a long sleeve shirt and thin gloves, and some workout pants. 

“Huh?” Steve immediately responded. “Oh, yeah, this thing,” Steve tapped the side of the watch, and the buzzing stopped. “I lost the instructions. Just got it yesterday.”

“You can probably get them online or something,” the man took a sip of his water, and raised his eyebrows quickly. “Apple really should know better than to create more waste, especially if you’re receiving a watch there’s a good chance you have access to a computer.” 

“Fair point,” Steve noted. 

“Fair point indeed,” the man smiled and tucked the remaining hair behind his ear. The watch started to beep and buzz loudly once again. “Seems like someone really wants to get in touch with you.”

“Yeah, it’s really annoying,” Steve laughed, not really sure what was going on with his watch. 

“You can always stick it in the draw like everyone else eventually does with those things,” the man held up his right wrist. “Tan line. Wore it for a solid year before taking it off. Now I just have a tan line like a divorcee and his old ring.” 

Steve laughed, as the other man took a long drink of his water. He stood up, stretched a bit, and then went to re-tie his shoe. “Still have five miles left on this run, and don’t want to waste the day. Good luck with your watch!” the man smiled and then jogged away.

Steve barely had time to ask the random runner’s name before he sprinted off. The watch beeped at a lower intensity. He pressed a button, letting a small random string of letters appear. Steve mentally logged the information but put nothing past it.

* * *

The cold started to sweep back up into the air, and Steve picked himself up from the park to head back to the apartment. Only so much you can do walking around without looking slightly creepy. 

When he arrived, the mission binder beckoned him. He sighed, and opened the book up. The first thing he saw was a letter. 

_ Dear Steve, _

_ If you are reading this, you made it to the 21st. Congrats! Not sure how long after you are reading this but hopefully not 8 years after initial departure from your original timeline.  _

_ If it is 8 or more years after, glad you finally remembered. _

_ Anyway, you’re in the 21st century to find and kill the CEO of  _ Franklin & Nobel.  _ Enclosed is the historical record when our professors were able to find the CEO’s data tracing. From when you have dropped into the 21st, the CEO has visited this place frequently in the past two weeks. 40.6782 _ _ °N, 73.9442° W. That’s why we placed you in Brooklyn. For the specifics, we’re seeing how close right now you have to get to him. Not sure about his bodyguard, though. There are reports that he is by his side almost constantly when he is making deals with the current government. He wasn’t good news either. Strength to rip plane wings, and cars alike, as well as crush guns. You get the idea.  _

_ On further evaluation, 'Tasha and I found that the CEO and his guards were not only in circulation in New York, but also places like Pennsylvania and the now (23rd century now) defunct Russia, as well as...literally all over the world. What we found during the further evaluation was that he had some sort of data transfer access, far advanced for the 21st century that allowed for almost complete masking. Data transfers when you are, usually means some sort of cell phone pick up. Now, we cannot confirm this area within a radius (and would probably be some sort of Hell if you had to find the exact one - according to the historical record 5.17 billion people have a cell phone that allowed these data bells more or less at the time) but it was hidden among us in plain sight. So. Avenue U. _

_ You’re welcome. _

_ Sam. _

Steve set down the letter and paused for just a second. “Avenue U,” he muttered. Steve got out of his chair and grabbed the closest mailer near his door. 

Avenue H

Steve was just a few blocks from the apartment.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve paced in his own place. Avenue H - only a few blocks away. Only a few blocks to find what exactly is on the street other than the local restaurants and small locally owned shops. 

Steve flipped through a few more pages of the binder hoping that he could come across more information...and he had. 

A letter from Natasha.

_ Dear Steve, _

_ Greetings from the great future! This is weird isn’t it? I haven’t had to interact with the past like this since we had to send someone back into 1945, specifically send a few people back so the historical record could be observed through letters from someone’s beloved. It was frustrating.  _

_ Anyways. I’m sure you’re here because this is denoted as Letter Number 2 and well, won’t make sense without reading and understanding Letter Number 1. Historical records and all show that Avenue H is the street we need to find a confirmation. Now, more research has shown that it is specifically in 332 Apartment 3F. Again, still not sure how exactly F&N used to majorly shift our entire world as we know it, but if a Keruig(?) is involved - feel free to throw it out the window. Just kidding. Find a space and hide it - I’ve always wanted to try something like that.  _

_ So, anyways. 332 Apartment 3F. _

_ Don’t fuck it up. _

_ Regards _

_ Natasha _

* * *

Steve stayed up too late. Sam and Natasha never really coached him about television practices - how the programs were meant to keep you from finding out what was next, watching each mindless commercial that honestly felt incredibly slow in comparison to what he was used to, and to have the second-screen component was baffling since it was outlawed before he was born.

Steve got up, did his 21st century chores, and waited until the sun started to go down, after he made dinner in a Microwave for the first time, to venture out to Avenue H.

The street wasn’t the glitz and glam that he thought  _ all _ of New York City offered. Few people walked down the sidewalks, talking into their phones or listening to music. Steve made a mental note to grab a pair of earphones for safe measure the next time he was at some store, possibly after he managed to bet at the local sports bar. 

322 Avenue H. Big, grey and tall. Steve stretched his neck to look up. A taller than usual building. Steve tightened up his jacket some more, as the wind started to pick up. He climbed the stairs, and eventually pulled on the door.

Which didn’t open. Locked, like any normal safety measure. 

“You forgot your keys?” someone from behind him asked. 

“Yeah,” Steve stepped to the side, and chuckled. “I was about to head off to Manhattan and I noticed I forgot my wallet, and I guess I forgot my keys as well.”

“I hate when that happens,” the other man unlocked the door, and held it open for him.

Blind trust. 

Steve walked to the elevator and waited until it opened to be able to slip right in. No  _ muzak _ , thankfully. He heard enough when Sam was trying to blast it throughout the warehouse. 

The doors opened, and a bland hallway faced back at Steve, before he started to walk through the halls. “3A...3B…” Steve said to himself. “3F.”

Between him and a wooden panel was the device, was the thing that caused him to become who he was, the device that -

The door opened and Steve jumped slightly backwards. 

“Oh shit!” the man exclaimed as he dropped his bag of garbage, and clutched his chest with his hand, and started to breathe a bit deeply. “Hi,” he pinched his nose with his fingers. “Hi, can I help you?”

Steve rubbed his face with his hands, and took a deep breath. 

He knew this man. 

“I know you,” the other man said.  “Man on the bench?” 

Steve furrowed his eyebrows, and tried to act quick. “Wait, is this apartment 5F?”

“3F.”

Steve’s watch started to go off. “Fuck,” he swore under his breath and fumbled with his watch. After a few seconds of the other guy staring at him struggling, Steve faced him again. “I went to the wrong place.”

“...and you were just standing outside the door?”

“I’m nervous,” Steve wasn’t lying. 

“Hot date?” 

“Not really a date,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, letting the blush that was starting to form on the bottom of his neck bloom. He could hear the packet that landed down on his desk in the warehouse and Sam’s lecture about hookup culture. Steve leaned back on his heels, and placed his hands in his pockets. “So...yeah,” Steve chuckled. “Sorry for scaring you. Gotta go up a couple more floors.” 

The other man chuckled. “Two floors, straight up.”

“Thank you,” Steve turned and walked towards the elevator _. Just that guy. Nothing else,  _ Steve thought.  __ As he waited for the elevator car to pull up to the floor. The door at the end of the hallway clicked shut. 

The other man went the other way. 

Steve needed to get into that apartment to find any clue why the CEO would be there, and had to do it without disrupting...much of the...present timeline. The doors opened to the elevator, and Steve walked in, automatically leaning on the back panel, and running a hand through his hair, frustrated.

* * *

More days passed. Steve adjusted more to his situation. Started to really learn the technology in front of him, however what he enjoyed most was pen on paper. It was most comfortable, most recognizable. 

The notebooks that he bought were leather-like-bound, and had a stretchy band to hold it close. It was light, and practically fit in the palm of his hand. The first crack of the spine was the most satisfying. The cardboard cracking under new movements. However, even though Steve mostly roamed around in his place - like most people working from home - there was work to be done. 

As well as catching the sun on an abnormally warm late-January day. He had a plan, and that plan was to find ways to get into the apartment. Thanks to his super-soldier brain, remembering picture perfect days was easy. It helped for strategy - helped for the opposition not to hack into their system, so basically making one’s brain some sort of external hard drive. 

The sun. 

Steve refocused his attention to the present. His head was spinning and he needed to devise a plan to get into apartment 3F. He needed to find a route into the apartment, without disturbing any sort of decor that would tip off someone that someone rifled through their whole apartment. 

However, Steve just needed a few minutes outside. He thrived for the fresh air, the warm sun on his skin. He was just so obstinately jealous of the people who lived without fear to go outside - those who were able to at least. They took the sun for granted, the fresh air. He closed his apartment door and headed down to the park.

* * *

Sitting at one of the many empty chess tables, Steve opened his notebook, and started to let the pen take its own course. 

Steve was entranced by a lot that this century had to offer, the apartment buildings that shot straight up into the sky, the textures that he felt with everything. However he knew of the bad, the discrimination, the persecution, the politics, however it wasn’t his fight. He was privileged - and probably a strong reason why Sam and Natasha chose him. People were still being killed for who they were, whether it was by others or by the government themselves and they couldn’t take the risk. 

Steve was able to blend. 

He etched his pen across the paper, giving the building that he was drawing dimension and focus, shading and -

“You again?” Steve looked up. It was him - the apartment guy. The guy who ran. The guy who would not stop endlessly talking about his communicator. “Not wearing your watch today?” 

Steve aimlessly rubbed his left wrist, and chuckled for show. “Thought I’d give the annoying sounds a break for a day.” 

“Understandable. What are you doing out here in...40 degree weather? It’s pretty cold, and you’re….waiting for a chess partner?”

“Sketching,” Steve shrugged. 

“Didn’t peg you for the creative type.”

“What did you think?”

“Mr. Crossfit.”

“No, Mr. Crossfit is my father, actually,” Steve laughed, and the other man laughed in turn, with his hair falling across his face, as he let his head drop slightly. 

“I set myself up for that, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Steve leaned back in the concrete chair. “Out for another run?”

“Yeah, started to get a bit claustrophobic inside that apartment. Oh!” He snapped his fingers. “How’d that date-not-date go? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It, uh,” Steve sighed, and put on as much of an act as he could. “Not so great? I mean,” Steve sighed. “How to put this in words for a stranger,” Steve awkwardly laughed. 

“Shit, sorry, that’s really personal,” he put a hand on his forehead.

“Well, I did stand outside your door for five minutes, thinking it was the other guy’s. It’s, I think, well within the confines of a conversation.”

“Are you like a sociologist?” 

“No,” Steve laughed. “I work in graphic design. Thus the Moleskine notebook.”

“Huh, would have never guessed. Well, I hope the date went well.”

“Thanks, I’m pretty sure he ghosted me so,” Steve shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“It is what it is,” the other man mirrored Steve. A noise came from the other man’s phone. “Sorry,” he fished it out from his running pants. Took a quick look and placed it back into his back pocket. “I have to go, but it was nice seeing you again…” 

“Steve. Steve Rogers.”

“Bucky Barnes,” he held out his gloved hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you. See you around?”

“I’ll be here, probably seeing if someone wants to best me in a game of chess,” Steve smiled. 

“Any chance I could get your number? I promise to not ghost you  _ too  _ harshly,” the man - Bucky - said with a lilt in his tone.

Steve fished his phone out of his jacket pocket, and after unlocking it, handed it over to Bucky. He tapped in the phone number and handed it back to Steve, before texting him a quick word. “See you ‘round Steve,” Bucky said, before starting his run once again.


	9. Chapter 9

Weeks went by without a word from Bucky. No text, no emojis...nothing. Just a blank screen in his messages. Bucky was his first insight to the 21st century and his way into the apartment. 

...and there was nothing. 

Until during one Wednesday morning in February. 

**Bucky**

_ Hi. _

The vibration caused the phone to move on Steve’s desk, taking his attention away from whatever lesson he was learning. He took his headphones off, and leaned back into his chair. He opened his locked screen and hovered his thumbs over the keyboard. 

**Steve**

_ Hi there. _

**Bucky**

_ I became the worst new friend. Sorry for not talking for the past few weeks. Work had me out into some pretty shitty cell service areas. _

**Steve**

_ All good. Have just been playing chess by myself at the park. What do you do for work? _

**Bucky**

_ Pick up jobs. Nothing fun. _

_ Look, I feel bad for ghosting you after you had a ghosting situation.  _

_ There’s this cool night time exhibit at the Met if you wanna join? No one else is taking my offer.  _

Steve chewed on the inside of his lip. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. None of the paintings he knew of survived time, not even the statues. 

**Steve**

_ That’d be fun. Just let me know time and place and would be happy to join. _

A bubble appeared on Bucky’s side of the screen. Then disappeared...and took some time to re appear again. 

**Bucky**

_ Awesome. Meet you there Wednesday at 7:30? Top of the stairs. _

**Steve**

_ Sounds good. See you then. _

* * *

Wednesday night rolled around quickly. Steve got onto the subway, much easier than the first time. Things were getting easier to understand. The slang, the societal tricks...and just interacting with people, which meant barely interacting with them at all. The first few people that he talked two were probably visitors. Probably people who were just lonely and needed that extra boost of serotonin. Steve listened to the wheels on the track, the way they screeched, the way they locked onto the metal underneath. 

The train jerked, and the doors opened up. 

* * *

When Steve reached the steps, he didn’t realize how many there were. The schematics his old history lessons provided were wrong. The museum almost felt like a beacon of joy. An exciting monument to be displayed. He recognized the man with the shoulder length hair, and he recognized back. Steve started to walk up, and wave. “Hey, Bucky!”

He turned around, hands in his pockets, and his face almost lit up. “Hey! Thanks for joining. Thought I was going to get stood up,” Bucky laughed nervously. 

“Not when it’s the Met! I used to love this place as a kid.” 

“Your ma brought you to the museum a lot?”

“Before she got sick, yeah,” Steve smiled at the memory. "Mostly,” Steve paused, trying not to sneak in too much future technology. “Mostly reading books and sitting on the couch. Warm tea and warm blankets. The good weekends, we always took the chance to see my favorite paintings in person.”

“Jealous,” Bucky smiled. “C’mon. They’re starting to serve wine. Not many times we can drink and viciously critique Van Gogh with no merits.”

* * *

As soon as they walked in they were handed a glass and were led to an area where drinking was allowed. Sections of the museum were sectioned off to the public but as Steve looked at the pamphlet, it was more than he expected. Steve took a sip of the wine, and almost spat it out. 

“Not a good glass?” Bucky chuckled. 

Steve swallowed, painfully. “No, I think it just needs to breathe. Also, my hometown doesn’t really serve alcohol.”

“Ah, you grew up in Utah?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Steve answered, thinking it was the only reasonable response. 

“So, country boy comes to New York City - I can see it in the marquee,” Bucky dragged his hands across the air, simulating a billboard. “Did work bring you here?” 

“Just like almost everyone, I guess,” Steve sat down on one of the benches in the middle of the room. He was surrounded by water lilies and a few other people mingling. Bucky sat down next to him. Steve turned to face him. Saw the grey eyes framed by dark hair. 

They looked old. 

Looked like they had seen the world and more. Steve wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. 

“What do you do again? Graphic design, right?” Bucky scratched the side of his face. Steve noticed something...different about his arm, but didn’t want to press on that subject. 

“Yes,” Steve attempted to take another sip of the wine. “I freelance, mostly. Worked for a corporate out in Salt Lake, but found most of my business was pairing with companies , and video conferencing was getting annoying, so I moved out here so it would be easier to do some presentations without the WiFi getting cut.”

“To freelancing,” Bucky smiled, and raised his glass. Steve followed and the glasses cheered. They took another sip. The drink was going down a lot better going down his throat. Company didn’t hurt.

“What’s your freelancing look like?” 

Bucky sighed. “Just a lot of traveling really,” he furrowed his eyebrows. “Sometimes it feels like you get off the plane, you blink, and your heading back. Just a lot of negotiating really.” 

“Sounds enthralling,” Steve chuckled. 

“Oh,  _ absolutely,” _ Bucky said, dripping with sarcasm, which elicited another laugh from Steve. “Do you want to see some more rooms?”

Steve nodded, and got up from the bench.

* * *

They walked from room to room, allowing for a free reign conversation. After the Monet room, both Steve and Bucky started to open up just a bit more. Childhood conversations with their parents, the stupid bullies that they used to hate...everything from nonsensical to non-important.

Steve looked at the paintings. The brush strokes were masterful, seeing each bristle being pushed into the canvas. The color blending into each stroke. “Wow,” Steve said, breathlessly. 

“It really is, isn’t it?” Bucky said, as he tapped the side of Steve’s arm, with a new glass of wine.

“I thought it was a 2 drink limit?”

Bucky handed Steve a glass. “Not when you flirt with the bartender and tell him that it’s your birthday,” he laughed. “I also gave him a 20 dollar tip so that also helped.” 

“To your fake birthday, and to good company,” Steve raised his glass.

“Cheers,” Bucky smiled. 

* * *

They walked back from the Subway that dropped them off in Brooklyn. The air hit both of their faces, as it was a relief to breathe fresh air. Steve let the air fill his lungs. He would never forget this. He will never forget the sensation of  _ air _ . 

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

“Hm?” Steve opened his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Just the fresh air is nice.”

“Yeah, the subway wasn’t as fresh, today,” Bucky laughed and put his hands in his pockets. Steve could feel the wine in his system, but wasn’t drunk. He didn’t know if he even could get drunk - if his body was able to synthesize it.  They stopped in front of the apartment building. Bucky’s apartment. Everything kept leading Steve back there.  “So…” Bucky rolled on his feet. “I had a good time, tonight. Thank you for joining me,’ he smiled. 

“Thanks for the invite,” Steve smiled back. “I needed to get out of my place. Thanks for the company.” 

“It was enjoyable,” Bucky let out a breath of air. “Do you...do you want to come up? Maybe for some coffee?” 

“Uh,” Steve pursed his lips. “I’m...I have an early conference call tomorrow,” Steve said, and almost saw Bucky’s face fall. “ _ But _ . But. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I think right now, museum bros is just what’s good for me,” Steve put an arm on Bucky’s arm. Feeling it. Squeezing it. 

“My arm’s not real,” Bucky said quietly. 

“I was about to ask what you do for your workout routine.” 

Bucky responded in a sharp laugh. “I wear a cover so people don’t stare at me. I don’t really want to retell my war story.”

“You don’t have to tell your story, if you don’t want to, that’s more than fine with me.” Bucky just smiled in return. “Look,” Steve sighed. “I really have an early conference call tomorrow. Have to make sure my plan is correct for the color scheme for a coffee cup logo,” Steve was just making stuff up at this point. “Another time,” Steve smiled. 

“Have a good night, Steve. Thank you for the company,” Bucky lifted his head and smiled. He pushed back his hair with his hand, letting those grey eyes shine. 

“Thank you,” Steve smiled. “Just call me the Company man.”

* * *

Steve opened the door to his apartment, ignoring the pile of mail on his kitchen counter. He hung up his jacket, toeing his shoes off and got into his sweatpants. 

The softness of the pillow was a relief. The wine didn’t get to him, thankfully, but it was tiring nonetheless. It was the new experiences, and sharing time with someone else. He was so used to his era waking up alone, barely talking to his teammates, and then going home. 

Except when Steve knew Peggy. There was the time right before he went through the training program he met her. She was his age. They met in the waiting room the third time Steve had to fill out some paperwork. They didn’t see each other until after they were a couple of years into the program, after they were assigned posts. It was a gala for more funding. Steve just had to angrily sit at his table, drink his drink that was a cheap imitation of what he knew to be Whisky, since he knew the funding was going towards the military again, and not towards the people that needed it. 

Peggy sat down next to Steve, and swirled her imitation wine in her glass. “You’re really going to sit here and stew, even though you  _ know _ you can’t do anything?”

Steve raised his eyebrows, and looked over. “I haven’t changed that much, huh?” 

“Not in the slightest,” Peggy smiled. “Nice to see you again, Steve Rogers. You’ve changed a bit.”

“Can’t say the same for you Peggy,” Steve smiled. “Not that -that’s not supposed to be a bad thing I’m-”

“I was put in the background. I...didn’t really want to be put in the front-lines anyway.” 

“You deserve to be there,” Steve sighed. 

“I don’t need your sympathy, Steve,” Peggy raised her eyebrows, “however I do need a dancing partner, and everyone else has paired up. Even Dougan.”

“Well,” Steve put his drink down, and gave a hand to Peggy, “time to make you shine on the dance floor.”

The people who worked in R&D weren’t necessarily allowed  _ not _ to be in relationships, but it was frowned upon. The people, as described by the leaders above Steve and Peggy, needed scientists, not people in love. However, they continued as if they were given a free pass. Shared glances at work, talking in his office for more than the time allotted, and going back to his apartment, or hers, to extend their time together, further than just talking about the recent tank models. 

Their relationship lasted two years. They started to drift apart by the end, and Steve did and didn’t see it coming. Peggy was going to retire from the program, and become a full time code-breaker. That is where her skill was, whether it was due to the serum or not, and she excelled in the breaker department. They saw each other less and less, and both just started to split. Both Steve and Peggy tried to make it work but, one day Peggy came to see Steve and as soon as the door closed, Steve never saw her again.

From that point on, Steve was alone. 

Just him. 

Steve could say that he wasn’t alone anymore. He had a friend. Steve had enjoyed his time with Bucky at the museum. To bring him to a place that he would enjoy, and have a wonderful and fun conversation. Steve kept remembering to the times that Bucky touched him slightly. Steve didn’t know if it was lust or if it was the fact that he was just touch-starved, but it definitely made his skin light up. 

_ Stop, _ Steve said to himself.  _ Not the time to think about this. _

Steve rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands, and drew out a long breath. He wasn’t going to think how he liked that touch, how he wanted Bucky to continue to drag his hand up and down Steve’s arm, to bring it down his waist, and into the inside of his thigh. Steve brought his hand down underneath his pants, and closed his eyes, immediately forgetting about the rules.


	10. Interlude

“Good  _ morning, _ Natasha!” Sam said with too much intensity for Natasha’s liking. 

“I had,” she looked at her watch, “three hours of sleep, especially after the last incoming agent arrived.”

“Yeah that was a bad trip. How do you not realize the bag strap was outside the door?” Sam sat down, and swiveled in his chair.  “Happy new year, too,” he cracked his knuckles. 

Natasha hummed a response and sipped her coffee. They tapped on their computers. 

Simulation room, running. Air, flowing. “Check, check, check, check,” Natasha mumbled. “Did you brew a fresh cup of coffee? This one has been cold for an hour.”

“Been brewing for the past fifteen minutes. When is the next historical record shift?”

Natasha got up from her chair. “One hour - all letters locked and loaded for mailing. Our contact postal worker is at the ready.”

“Nice,” Sam tapped a few things on his screen. Natasha sat back down and crossed her legs in the chair, getting comfortable. 

“Are you ready for mail delivery?” Natasha asked Sam. 

“I mean, we condensed everything we could for Steve. We have coordinates, since the historical shift last. Hopefully he got them,” Sam sighed. 

“Good enough for me,” Natasha said and hit a button on the far left screen. “Letters sent.” The warehouse rumbled slightly.

* * *

A couple of hours went by. The two scientists welcomed another agent back, and sent her back to the second containment center. 

“How old is she now?” Sam asked. 

“Sixty-four,” Natasha scribbled something on her clipboard. 

“Damn. She was what, thirty-five when she left last week?” 

“Thirty-six,” Natasha un-clicked her pen. She looked up to the board. “Sam?” 

“Yeah?” Sam looked up from his file folder.

“How long have you been working for  _ Dynamos? _ ”

“Ten years? Give or take?” he shrugged.

“In those ten years, have you ever seen that?” Natasha pointed to the glowing red changing lines on the board. “You gotta be  _ fucking kidding me _ , right now.” Sam stressed as he dropped his file folder and walked up to the board. 


	11. Chapter 11

Steve placed his mail to the side, after he set his bags down in the kitchen. The bills that had to be paid had to wait a few more days until after the next game was won. Steve only just placed his bets. 

He put away his food, and sipped on one of the smoothies that they made at the local juicer. It was fresh, and sweet to taste. Food was something of a gift, in this century. The flavors, the spices. He loved the cultures that spanned the globe that was offered in New York. He went out of his way every other week to a small Ethiopian restaurant on the other side of the R train that he wanted to remember to go to for future meals.

Steve booted up his computer, and automatically started an email about his past week. Logs of information that the Historical Record could possibly use, so for future missions - or if Steve Rogers had to re-do this mission once again - he could know where to go for some amazing food. He tapped his mouse on the send button and started to idly draw in his notebook to getting lost in the day.

Steve’s phone buzzed, and thankfully didn’t scare him. His response was getting better. 

**Bucky**

_ Hey museum bro _

**Steve**

_ Hi _

_ Now that you are typing that, it is a ridiculous term _

**Bucky**

_ Glad you have seen the light _

_ I had a good time last week. _

_ Sorry I didn’t text you _

_ Work and all _

**Steve**

_ All good!  _

_ What’s up? _

**Bucky**

_ Friends have bailed on me again for tomorrow night _

**Steve**

_ You really have a good bunch. Haha _

_ Free Night museum passes _

_ Now this _

_ Which is? _

**Bucky**

_ Bowling? _

_ Free three hour lane. Unlimited food and drinks _

Before Steve could ask an idiotic question, he typed up what the sport was into the search bar.

**Steve**

_ Only if you let me use the bumpers _

Bucky shot him the address and a time to meet, and all Steve had to think about was the phrase  _ there’s a dangerous megalomaniac that has been in his apartment _ over and over again. Maybe this propensity towards Bucky was just a passing thought. 

Hopefully. Bucky is the first person Steve has become friendly with here in the 21st, so it wasn’t any surprise that he... _ liked _ when Bucky contacted him.

* * *

“This place is loud,” Steve said as he walked into the building. Bright lights, and loud sounds from the mounted televisions practically slapped Steve in the face. Bucky smiled. 

“Yeah,” Bucky laughed. “They really go for the ‘ _ gotcha’ _ decor.” Bucky slipped on the dulled red and blue shoes.

“How many people do you think wore these?” Steve asked, almost concerned. 

‘Thousands?” Bucky laughed as Steve’s face practically dropped. He walked up to the reception area and Steve watched the employee point to the furthest lane. They followed suit. 

* * *

“So, how long has it been since you’ve bowled?” Bucky sipped his beer. 

“Uh,” Steve searched in his brain for an answer that wasn’t there. “Never?” 

“ _ Never?” _ Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Not even at someone’s birthday party?”

“Okay, well,” Steve hid his nervousness behind a smile, and put his hands up in defeat. “Maybe not...never. The last time was maybe when I was 12?”

“Twelve? My God,” Bucky pushed his hair behind his ear. 

“Did I commit the cardinal sin of bowling?”

“Cardinal Sin of bowling? Is there a Pope of Bowling I don’t know about?” Bucky laughed and Steve laughed back. “So how many years since you bowled?”

“Since I was 12, so,” Steve idly calculated the years, “twenty.”

Bucky stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. “That’s too long, compared to my 2 months since I’ve hit the lanes.”

“So, I’m really just learning that you’re a huge nerd, huh?” Steve smiled. “Two months?”

“Bit of a local celeb here,” Bucky said while grabbing a bowling ball. 

“That’s pretty sad,” Steve laughed and Bucky rolled a strike, turned around and gave Steve the middle finger. 

“Your turn,” Bucky smiled, sat and drank a swig of his beer. Steve followed suit and grabbed the next ball, and pressed the rail button and the lane was protected. Steve mimicked Bucky’s movements and let the ball go onto the lane. It bounced off the rail, and hit one pin. 

“...and that’s how you do a touchdown,” Steve said proudly. 

“Holy shit, have you  _ ever _ watched a match? Any game of sport?” 

“No, I wasn’t really interested,” Steve laughed. “That obvious?”

“Yes, I’m not even going to joke about it,” Bucky chuckled. They played another full game before settling on some food, and more drinks. Steve’s bowling ball kept hitting the rails, and laughter kept flowing. 

“This...this isn’t lame?” Bucky asked, as they sat back down for a break. 

“What?” Steve popped a fry into his mouth. 

“This...hangout?” Bucky looked as though he was searching for words. 

Steve knit his eyebrows together “Why would it be lame?” 

A small smile washed over Bucky’s face. “I...I don’t know. Usually bowling isn’t everyone’s thing.” 

Steve laughed and took another at Bucky’s face before taking a sip of his beer. He looked at his eyes. Still grey.  Still had eyes that looked like they held decades of memories that were behind them.

“Steve?” Bucky waved a hand in his face. 

“Sorry, zoned out for a moment. Did you say something?”

“We have like two full rounds to go, do you want to try again? I can try and teach you a few tricks.”

“When in Rome,” Steve stood up and wiped his hand on his khakis, grabbed a ball, and flicked the rail on. 

“Put the rail down, Steve,” he heard Bucky say. Still holding the ball, Steve turned around. “I can no longer be seen with someone who uses a guard rail.”

“An hour and a half was your limit?” Steve raised his eyebrows. Bucky pushed his hands into his pockets and walked over to the guard rail and pushed the button to reset the lane. 

“I’m going to teach you how to bowl.” 

“Please don’t tell me that’s one of your pick up lines,” Steve muttered. 

“I heard that,” Bucky laughed, “and if you want to know, it has worked once over.”

“Congratulations,” Steve said without any sarcasm. 

Bucky picked up a bowling ball. “Thank you.” He took Steve’s current pick out of his hands, and placed another. “First rule of bowling is to have the correctly weighted ball in your hand.”

“Okay,” Steve turned back to the lane, took a deep breath, and started to drop -

“Pause, please.” 

Steve held his position. “Pausing.”

Bucky took his hand and touched Steve’s forearm. “Is this okay?” 

Steve cleared his throat. “Yes, uh, yeah. That’s fine.” 

“Okay . This is my fake arm. I can hold the weight of your arm with the bowling ball. My arm won’t break, I promise.” 

Steve let his arm relax as much as possible, without letting his wrist break, and fall against Bucky’s. Steve tried to calm his nerves, and tried not to lean back too much into Bucky’s body. 

“We’re going to drop your hand slowly,” Bucky allowed Steve’s hand to swing downward like a pendulum. “Just like that. When you just get past your knees, let the ball go, with your palm facing down.” Bucky stepped away, and Steve nodded. Steve mimicked the style, trying not to think how he automatically felt the space between their bodies when Bucky stepped aside. He did the movements, and watched the ball roll down the lane, spinning, only to end up behind the bins. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” Steve said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Not even a pin!” Bucky just started audibly laughing. “Did you see that?” as he turned around to Bucky.. “That was the lamest roll I’ve done in all my hours of bowling,” Steve started to back up. 

“Hey, be careful there’s only a small section -” With an audible thunk, Steve was on the floor. Groaning, he pressed his palms against his eyes. When he opened them he saw Bucky standing over him, with an outstretched hand. “Wanna try again?” Bucky asked, as he helped him up from the floor. 

Steve smiled. “Lemme grab a few swigs of beer first.”

* * *

“Okay, last round.You have one last available roll left. You got this, Steve.”

Steve took in a deep breath. “Enough with the pep talk, you’re starting to sound like my father.”

“Sorry,” Bucky chuckled. “Checking off that you do not have a praise kink.”

Steve laughed, letting his initiation fly. “Okay, okay, let me focus.” Steve took a minute, and allowed his arm to swing the ball, watching it fly down the lane. Steve tensed, until he heard the ball in the pins. 

_ “STRIKE! _ ” the automated voice rang out.

“I got a strike!” Steve cheered. 

“Fuck yeah!” Bucky jogged up to Steve, giving him a hug. Steve tensed quickly,however quickly allowed himself to reciprocate. The touch filled his body, until Bucky let go, hoping he could remember the feeling for when he needed it most.

* * *

Bucky got back from the cubicles, and handed over Steve’s shoes at the bowling alley bar. Steve swirled the last of his beer in the glass. “This has been a really fun night,” Steve smiled over to Bucky as he swiveled in his chair. 

“Yeah?” Bucky smiled as he tied up his sneakers, his hair falling slightly in front of his face.

“Yeah. I don’t have...I don’t know. I should say, that I don't have too many people here as friends in the city outside of my coworkers. I mean, who can I tell about this bowling date?” Steve raised his eyebrows, before catching himself. “I mean - not a date - shit. Sorry,” Steve pinched his nose. “We never really discussed anything it  _ being a  _ -” 

“Steve, it’s okay,” Bucky looked at him, smiling. “Bowling bros is probably better for now, anyway.”

“Jerk,” Steve smiled. 

“Punk.”

* * *

They walked back, shoulder to shoulder, idly touching, out of the building, leaving the lights and sounds behind them. The subway still turned, still moved, sitting in silence, letting the sounds of underground come alive. Steve dug his hands into the pockets of his khakis, as they walked up the stairs “Thank you, for the time out, again.” Steve looked over at Bucky turning around quickly to face him. However, his head was swimming, and when he turned back around Steve didn’t notice the iron fence, and hip checked the iron bars. “ _ Fuck.” _

“Are you okay?” Bucky paused and tried to steady him. 

“Uh,” Steve winced, “no. Fuck that really hurt,” Steve said, wavering in his stance. He tried to balance himself. 

“Are you able to get home?” 

“Sure,” Steve said, through a pained voice.

“That’s not confident enough.”

“You’re not confident enough,” Steve retorted. “At least you’re cute,” Steve’s mouth started to ramble before his brain caught up.

“Oh wow, you  _ are _ drunk,” Bucky stated. 

“No alcohol where I come from.”

“Utah has that strict of laws?”

“Not Utah, the future,” Steve said, not even thinking. 

“Yep, you’re definitely drunk,” Bucky awkwardly laughed. He draped an arm around Steve and helped him stabilize. Steve leaned in, letting him be embraced by the other man.

* * *

“Oh my  _ God _ ,” Steve rolled over in his bed, “what the fuck?” he held his head, and felt the bile rise into his mouth. He tore away the covers on the -  _ that is not my bed...not my couch - _ unfamiliar setting and found the nearest trash can, and emptied the contents of his stomach before laying back down. 

Bucky walked into the room only wearing his boxers, rubbing his eye with a metal arm. “You look rough.”

“Bit of an understatement,” Steve groaned, and raised the blanket over his head.


	12. Chapter 12

“Steve, I swear to God if you apologize again, I’m not gonna get you some food.”

“You sure?” Steve mumbled. 

“That’s a warning,” Bucky laughed, and grabbed his keys. “You need a hangover cure and I sure as hell need one too. I’ll be back soon.” 

Steve threw Bucky a thumbs up from the pile of blankets, until he heard the door click close. 

So, here Steve was in the 21st century: hungover, still in his khakis and button up shirt, in the apartment that is somehow available to the CEO, whom of which he has no idea of what he looks like. He sat up on the couch, adjusting his open shirt. He looked over at the coffee table - a glass of water, and a bottle of Advil. He opened the small white bottle and grabbed two tablets. He never gets drunk as his body probably cannot synthesize alcohol…

...in the 23rd century. 

Steve pinched his nose. Researchers had to be on top of their game and not...hungover. Steve dug out his phone. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting some sort of notification. Not like he had too many friends.

Only Bucky.

Steve brought his attention back to his phone, and opened up his email. No reason to lessen the blow to his colleagues. His mission was time sensitive...ish. But just didn’t have the energy to do anything. He would just have to explain that nothing will be completed. Just not the day to do anything. Steve put his phone down, and leaned back on the couch, piecing together last night. There was no doubt that Steve liked  _ his _ touches, the smile on  _ his _ face, and  _ his _ fingers on his skin. The way he was gentle, even though Steve was bigger. 

Steve remembered those eyes. 

Steve got up to stretch his legs. He was finally in the apartment, and absolutely did not remember the bulk of Sam’s lectures. Steve searched his memory.

_ “Does the historical record have any indication of what the CEO looks like?” Steve chewed on a pen. _

_ “Uh, no,” Sam flipped through his pages. “But we have someone to email the archive. Hopefully they can figure it out before you disrupt the timeline, and then we can send someone right after to send a letter.”  _

_ “Okay,” Steve took the pen out of his mouth. “But what if I am in the same room of the CEO beforehand?” _

_ “Look for someone out of place. Evil.” _

_ “That’s vague.”  _

_ “Blame it on the historians.” _

Steve opened up the medicine cabinet, seeing an array of pastes and liquids, and closed it almost immediately. This was too much of an invasion of privacy. He shook his head slightly and looked at himself in the mirror. Hair astray, dark circles under his eyes. He turned on the water and splashed it on his face. He relished in the warm water. Drying off Steve adjusted his button up and tucked it back into his pants, as he heard Bucky’s front door open. 

“Steve?”

_ So much for continuing the search,  _ Steve sighed internally. “In,” Steve cleared his throat. “In the bathroom,” he continued. 

“I got us food!” Bucky almost yelled. 

“Oh thank God.”

* * *

“Holy shit,” Steve mumbled as he took a bite of the sandwich. “What,” he swallowed his bite, “what is this?” 

“You’ve never had a bacon, egg, cheese, avocado, with hot sauce?” Bucky seemed surprised at his overtly specific order.

“Don’t have them out West. I’m remembering this when I…” Steve paused, finding his words, “...when I head back.”

“You’re leaving New York so soon?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. 

_ Shit,  _ Steve swore internally. “No, I mean,” Steve slipped his coffee. “Not for a little bit. My contract with my job doesn’t end for a while, but I don’t have another job lined up after this,” Steve said lightly. Bucky’s face fell slightly. “Freelance,” Steve shrugged. “Just hoping this one lasts as long as possible. Just like this sandwich. God, I love the 21st century.”

Steve didn’t realize that his last sentence was spoken aloud. 

“You’re a strange man, Steve,” Bucky said with as much warmth in his voice. “Do you wanna take a walk?”

Steve wiped some hot sauce off of his face. “I can go for some fresh air.”

* * *

The park was busy. People jogging, playing chess, letting their dogs sniff the early blooming flowers. The sun reflected off of Bucky’s face. There was nothing, that Steve could automatically glance at, that stood out as odd. Maybe the historical record was wrong. Time..would have reset when he opened that door. It shifted, probably, Steve wasn’t sure. The device could have been in another place. Another building. There could be a chance. There was always a chance. Steve let out a frustrated sigh, and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“You want another coffee?” Bucky asked. 

“No, uh, “ Steve squinted. “No thank you. This is still doing the trick,” Steve held up his cup that he was still drinking. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” Bucky paused by a tree and leaned on the trunk for support. 

“For the company. I really...I really enjoy your company,” Steve blushed, sprouting from his chest onto his neck. 

“You don’t have to thank me, the few times we have hung out were a lot of fun. Glad I can provide that,” Bucky sat down on the bench that was next to the tree, and Steve followed. 

“I do have to thank you though. I don’t have many friends here, and you’re the only one who has brought me to more places here and -,” Steve huffed, noting that he was rambling, and quickly turned his head down.

“Hey,” Bucky cupped his chin and brought it up. “Hey, take a breather.”

Steve melted into Bucky’s touch, and looked into Bucky’s eyes.  _ Fuck it,  _ Steve thought.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asked, almost a whisper.

“Yes,” Bucky practically whispered back and Steve leaned in. Bucky met him halfway. Bucky’s scruff scratched Steve’s face right before their lips met, and Steve’s body lit up. As soon as his lips touched Steve’s, he breathed in sharply. Bucky’s tongue parted Steve’s lips and he eagerly accepted. The contact was needed. He had been so physically touch starved. Needing that contact from another human being. Bucky knew what he was doing, knew that Steve welcomed him, and kept his hand on Steve’s face. He didn’t want it to end. 

Bucky pulled away, taking his hand as well. “I was waiting for the right time to do that,” he said softly. 

“I’m guessing me, seven beers down, hip checking iron fences isn’t the best time?”

Bucky laughed softly. “This was a good time. Park and all.”

Steve smiled back. “So, last night was a date, huh? Did you even have friends bail on you?”

“I swear, they did!” Bucky laughed. “I think today is a more official date. Food, coffee, kissing in the park,” Bucky hummed. “Although, I do have to know one thing - was that your first kiss since 2015, though?” Bucky asked lightly. 

“That bad, huh?” Steve rolled his eyes. “First kiss and you’re already dragging me down?”

“No, no,” Bucky laughed earnestly, lines wrinkling around his eyes. “Not bad at all, actually,” Bucky smiled. “But will gladly help you practice more if you want.”

* * *

Steve unbuttoned his shirt as soon as he opened his own door. He looked at his mail that hand been sitting on his kitchen counter. He tossed his shirt into the hamper. “Bill, bill,” Steve muttered as he tossed them to the side. “Shit,” Steve swore. 

A historical record letter. Two days have passed. Steve groaned. 

_ Dear Steve, _

_ The Historical Record has shifted. We now have more information. The second page is the coordinates. This is an operation. Please wear your work uniform, and continue to wear the comms device.  _

_ Do  _ **_not_ ** _ kill anyone. The Historical Record only needs a confirmation of occupancy of the current  _ Franklin & Nobel  _ headquarters for now. Preferable conformation of internal activity. Please email the archive as soon as possible once a confirmation of the location is achieved. Nat and I will be checking our systems for the quick updates. _

_ All the best, _

_ Sam _

* * *

Steve looked at the coordinates - Pennsylvania - and tried to figure out a plan. His phone buzzed.

**Bucky**

_ I had a great day, and I hope you’re feeling a bit more human.  _

**Steve**

_ Me too.  _

_ When can we meet up next? _

_ My turn to choose the spot _

**Bucky**

_ That’s why I’m texting you… _

_ I have to help out my step-dad with another work issue. Negotiation help.  _

_ Won't be back home for a couple of weeks.  _

_ Going overseas. _

**Steve**

_ Okay, no problem _

_ Let me know when you’re back in the city _

_ We can grab a coffee to kick that jet lag _

**Bucky**

_ Of course _

_ :-) _

_ Don’t go practicing your technique without me _

_ Or do _

_ Just make sure you save a session for me _

**Steve**

_ Aye, aye, captain. _

Steve put the phone down, and needed to refocus on the job at hand. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains Canon Typical Violence

Steve hated setting alarms, and especially hated waking up to them. Back in the 23rd century, it was seven days a week - research didn’t stop for the weekends.  _ S.A.R.A.H.  _ though was a nice addition. Rather than waking up to a poorly designed phone tune that blasted through a tiny speaker,  _ S.A.R.A.H.  _ would wake Steve up like he had to go to school. 

He groaned as he heard his iPhone. Almost two months and he already hated using his alarm. Swiping the off button, he got up and rolled over and looked in his closed. 

He had a time frame. Time to get to work.

* * *

Pennsylvania. 

The coordinates that they gave were in Pennsylvania. Specifically in an empty field. Steve tapped a few buttons to sequence the program to find his destination, and within a matter of a few agonizing minutes, the location was secured. 

Just as he suspected. 

An empty field with a barbed wire fence. He printed out his location, and train tickets. He wasn’t taught how to drive, and thankful because New York just wasn’t the best place to release a new driver into the world, unless you had no fear. He grabbed his duffel bag, and headed out to Penn Station.

* * *

Steve walked to the hotel, thankful that he made reservations on the train. He knew that this op, the first one in months, would just be a source of energy lost. The big bed beckoned Steve to fall down and sleep but the stealth suit that he packed from the 23rd century beckoned more. He got dressed, locked his room, and headed down the stairs of the hotel, before calling a taxi.

The ride was quiet, albeit for the looks the driver kept giving him. “You headin’ to one of those conventions? The one where they dress up and all?”

Steve just raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Uh,” Steve paused not knowing how to answer. 

“Are you going to kill anyone in that thing?” The driver looked in the rear-view mirror.

“What? No. You can pull over here,” Steve instructed the driver. 

The driver nodded and followed suit. “Sorry, just have to ask,” the driver started to pull over to the side of the road. The GPS lightly commented that they were near their location. The driver turned around. “Last time someone showed up in costume I was brought to this alley in the middle of Pittsburgh. Told me to keep the meter running. All I know next is that I’m being questioned by the city DA if I had any involvement with this guy who killed another dude over some fight.” 

“I’m not going to kill anyone. It’s a-”

“It’s a sex thing? Meet up in the forest in a costume, and do the -”

“Yes, it’s a sex thing,” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, as he lied. “I’ll be back in two hours. Can I count on you to pick me up? I’ll give you double of what I owe. Keep the meter running.”

“Sure thing, bud,” the driver smiled, almost laughing. Steve got out of the car, and as soon as he closed the door, the car sped off. He could see the fence from here. 

Running through the trees, Steve noticed on the edge of the dirt passageway there was a camera that turned. Steve paused and watched. Sixty seconds a rotation, and two guards right at the top. Steve waited until the camera moved out of his line, and quickly ran up to the guard house. There was no way that the building didn’t have badge access. He needed it. 

Steve passed by the guard house, and hid in the camera’s blind spot, and waited for one of the guards to leave. The man with the hat leaned back into his chair, taking a breather from his day. Steve waited for the camera to point opposite before opening it’s window and putting a hand over the guard’s mouth, covering his scream. He pinched the guard’s pressure point on his neck causing him to pass out. Steve waited until the camera, once again, was pointed away and dragged the passed out guard in the forest before taking his clothes. 

Steve silently thanked fate for allowing them to be roughly the same size. He put the cap a bit further down on his head and walked easily toward the gate, badging in and opening the door.

* * *

The building was grey and bland. The door opened to a side entrance. Not for employees, not for visitors, just for the run of the mill staff. He saw a little black box in a restricted area. Big block red letters sprawled across the windows. 

“So much for secrecy.” 

The light switched green and Steve walked in. On the train ride over, he studied the schematics of the building. There was practically nothing useful, but allowed for some navigation. Like how the sprawling warehouse he was walking next to was some sort of weaponry. How the offices across allowed people to discuss trading and business deals. 

How they were going to get ahead of people because of their supposed preparedness. It was all being acted behind the scenes, in a nondescript building that looked like a research facility from the untrained eye. Steve kept walking down hallways that all looked the same. Any time he passed by someone, he lowered his cap and looked to the other side. 

It felt like no one cared. 

Felt like he was a fly on the -

The watch buzzed.

Steve looked at the message.  **_Data signature detected. 200m_ **

Steve kept walking and walking. Going backwards and forwards down and up hallways. Getting lost in the maze. After what felt like hours, the watch buzzed again. 

**_Data signature detected. .5m_ **

Steve stopped in front of a wall, and then turned around to a door. Above, a neon sign was lit “Training in progress?” Steve read aloud.  _ They must be...they must be doing some testing with a product,  _ Steve thought.  _ Maybe it was just developed. Maybe they’re figuring out it’s strengths.  _

Steve pulled the door open to a dark control room. He could see some lights go off, but there was no sound. Steve walked in, found a chair, and as soon as he sat down, he saw a man in leather, a face mask and something just too familiar.

A metal arm. 

Steve leaned in his chair forward, and accidentally pressed the button on. 

“ _ Sit the fuck down! Sit down!”  _ one of the guards - not a guard. The man had a business attire on, his golden red hair styled too perfectly to be a lowly guard - yelled as he pressed down on his shoulders. The soldier -  _ that can’t be. That just cannot - _ resisted. He elbowed the guard to his right, in his face, blood sputtering to the tiled wall behind him. A scream echoed into the chamber. Fear exploded on the other guard’s face as the man with the metal arm grabbed the guard’s uniform with one hand, lifted him up above him -

_ “Please! Please let me go! We just have to reintegrate you and then you will be -” _

_ “Shut the fuck up,” the man with the metal arm grumbled.  _

\- the guard quickly slapped his face. “What the fuck?” Steve swore under his breath. The man with the metal arm faltered as the guard fell from his grasp and started saying random words. 

“ _ No!”  _ the man _ \-  _ Steve knew that frame  _ \-  _ grasped his head, as the other controller continued the words, and crouched down. 

“ _ It doesn’t have to be that difficult. We all know this _ .  _ You definitely should know this. It’s common knowledge, or should be at this point _ .” The guard’s voice shifted to something more sinister. The man was quiet, and Steve heard something plastic hit the floor. “ _ Are you ready to make other people comply? For them to remember what this world needs?” _

“ _Da._ _Yes, sir.”_

_ “What do they need?” _

_ “Franklin & Nobel.” _

_ “Correct. Sit up, we have a lot to prepare for our guests,”  _ the man spat as a message about a passed out guard in a different suit was found in the forest. 

The man sat up, and for Steve, it seemed as though time stopped. He leaned forward on the counter, not realizing he switched on something. Steve looked at the eyes that he knew. 

The eyes that were grey, and held memories far beyond his age. 

Those grey eyes he spent time with, at a museum, at a park, at a bowling alley. 

It was Bucky.

Steve hooked his hands around his neck, as the information processed. The way his watch buzzed the first time in the park. 

Bucky was the Facilitator. The asset they used to give control over to Franklin & Nobel. He was one of the reasons it thrived. 

The watch pinged, and spoke. “ **_Data signature found. Confirmation of facility and occupancy, now being sent to the archival team.”_ **

The guard quickly looked over at Steve’s direction. “ _ Fuck _ !” Steve yelled. He scrambled out of his chair, as the guard hit a button from inside the room. Power went off and red lights flooded the areas. A loud alarm followed up. 

The guard yelled, and Bucky -  _ That’s Bucky’s face but not how he acts _ \- used his metal arm to punch the supposed two way mirror. As it splintered into a thousand little pieces, Steve pushed the chair from underneath him and ran out of the control room, and booked it down the hall. Bucky -  _ that was not Bucky. That is not the man he knew _ \- was running right behind him. This wasn’t him. Bucky was just the vessel that was being brainwashed into it. Steve kept running, the hallway seeming like it was never ending. Until he saw a window. 

Steve threw his cap to the side, and silently prayed for nothing at all as he broke through the Plexiglas/ window. He was four stories up, but hitting the ground didn’t hurt any less. The guard held the Soldier by his arms, ordering him to stop. Steve could still hear him. 

“Good job. You killed him. Onto the next,” the guard said - no, someone else - and Steve almost became sick. “South lawn, twenty paces. Get him to the morgue.”

Steve heard footsteps walk away, before more were coming. His body felt numb, and he couldn’t move. He tried to push himself up from the ground, but he was too weak, and had too many bones broken to heal in time. It was a risk, but Steve tried to piece together something. If he died, Franklin _ & Noble  _ would still continue, and no change would occur in the future. All previous activity here would effectively be...negligible.

Steve quickly punched in the emergent code on his communicator to send to the Archival team at the current 21st century  _ Dynamos _ team to restart their shift to get his future self to the  _ Dynamos  _ facility that he knew. Steve closed his eyes once more, before he heard the click of the gun right beside his head.


	14. Chapter 14

Steve woke up at the sound of a knock at his door. It had been months since he traveled back in time. According to Sam, there had been documented progress by his previous self. Got as close as being at the facility - as far as data went, however there was nothing confirmed. 

Steve needed to send those confirmations, and needed to get back to the area in Pennsylvania as soon as possible. 

As he flipped through the updated Historical Record in trying to gather information before he went, Steve’s mind drifted to Bucky. Drifted to the times they had together in the neon clad bowling alley, or the soft atmosphere of the museum. Steve chewed on his lip. He wanted to text him. Text Bucky. See if he was okay. See if he was in need of...someone. Just someone to hold. Bucky was giving off the energy that he needed to be given an extra hand, and extra  _ push _ to be able to stand up. Steve flipped through the pages some more, hoping to find whatever information the previous Steve found out was included, however it was hard to tell. He got far, though. Natasha told him that he was last seen at the Pennsylvanian facility, that there was security footage of him running around. 

The Steve before him was close, but he would get even closer.

* * *

The cab driver picked him up from the hotel, and it was a relatively quiet ride. No quick or snide comments came from the front seat. “First day on the job?”

Steve looked up front. “How’d you guess?”

“You’re giving off a nervous energy from a thousand miles away, bud,” the driver laughed, and Steve tried to play along.

“Took this job without a place or car, so I just want this to work out.”

“Quite a big risk,” he raised his eyebrows, visible from the rear-view mirror. 

“Big risk, big reward.” The rest of the car ride was quiet, and the driver dropped Steve off at the front gate. “If this day goes to shit, can you pick me up in the drop of a hat?” Steve handed the driver some extra cash.

“Are you gonna do some shoddy business with someone? Last time I got that call, I ended up in a court case.”

“I just want to have some options open.”

The driver sighed and pocketed the money. “I’ll be a hot minute away. Give me a buzz, and I’ll avoid all cameras.”

Steve gave a small salute, and the driver drove away. Steve turned around and walked up to the guard booth. 

“Name?” 

“Dominic Lytle. I was hired a couple of weeks ago as the new facility guard.” 

“Papers?” Steve fished out the pre-generated  _ Franklin & Nobel  _ papers. The guard looked them over, before fishing out a blank ID. “Welcome. Joey will set you up with everything. We will start with the basics, but we have a high level meeting going on that Joey needs to oversee. He might take you in. Just a fair warning that your day might be more of a normal day.”

“Understood.” 

Steve was brought to another place inside the facility. It was large and empty. Barely anyone roaming the halls. It seemed that most people were behind doors. Whether they be scientists or business associates, they were hidden. He was pulled into another sterile looking room. One large conference room, with multiple chairs and that’s about it. 

“In about ten minutes the CEO, negotiator, and a group from a West Coast branch will be coming in here to discuss merging aspects of certain branches. Shit might go down, might not. Depends how annoyed the CEO is at different locations. We’re here to control the situation, and when I say control I mean, let the facilitator and negotiator do whatever the fuck they want to do,” Joey stated.

“Facilitator?” Steve questioned. 

“Facilitator, negotiator, tomato, tomahto. They’re the same person. Don’t get in their way.” 

“Okay.” 

Steve stood in place and waited for people to fill the chairs. Over the course of 5 minutes, the board room filled up, and the last person who came through was unmistakable. It was Bucky. 

Except.

_ Except. _

He looked disheveled. Hair all over the place, eyes...his eyes giving off the sense of pain. The conference phone was placed in front of the nervous looking corporate business person. He adjusted his tie and cleared his throat. 

“Is...is the CEO not joining us today?” he looked over at Bucky.

“No,” Bucky stated quickly before punching in the number. The phone trilled a few times before a voice echoed through the speaker. 

“ _ Gene! It’s been a while!”  _ the CEO stated. 

“Hello,” Gene cleared his throat. “Hello, sir! How’re you today?”

“ _ Ah, you know - finally was able to hit a few balls on the golf course -”  _

“I hope some were hole-in-ones!” 

“ _ We’re here to talk about merging two West Coast branches, right?” _ the CEO asked, ignoring Gene’s golf comments. “ _ Well, let’s go over the basics shall we?” _ the CEO said over the phone, and the man sitting in the chair gave a semi-audible gulp. Steve kept his chin down so that the brim of the cap covered his eyes. He wasn’t sure if Bucky saw him. He hoped that Bucky didn’t see him. 

There was some arguing, and then Steve heard the click of a gun. 

“Okay.  _ Okay, _ ” the man said, sitting back down in his chair. This was it. This was how the company started to take off. Because of him.  _ His skill.  _ The skill to be able to coerce people into making the decisions the CEO wanted to. 

The meeting ended without any more surprises. The deflated business partner shuffled out of the room, as well as the others with clipboards filled with papers upon papers. The other security guard pushed off the wall and turned to Steve. 

“Now, that was pretty uneventful. Usually the EVS staff has to come in and make this place spotless,” the man laughed. “Next time we’ll have a bit more action to take care of.”

“Okay,” Steve cleared his throat, trying to hide his discomfort. 

“Take a few, and then meet me in 7-05 West for a tour of the testing facility.”

“Yes, sir.” 

The security guard walked out, and Steve slid down the wall, until he sat down. It was him. It was -

“What the fuck are you still doing here,” a low voice came from the opposite end of the room. Steve looked up to see the man in the tactical gear staring at him. 

“I uh...I’m -” Steve stammered, got up and exited the room. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started to walk. He went out the door, and away from the room that the other security guard had told him to visit. Steve tried to keep his body calm, but his mind was racing. Racing because he didn’t know exactly where to go. Racing because there was another set of footsteps behind him. 

Steve ducked into a stairwell and skipped as many as he could, ultimately now running. He heard the door open, and someone shouting from the corridor. 

“ _ Get him!” _

Alarms started to blare, and as soon as Steve saw another door, he ran outside, but didn’t hear it close. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see Bucky watching him….letting him go. Steve picked his pace back up and called the cab driver.

* * *

Steve toweled off the excess water in his hair before sitting down at his desk and opening his laptop, and gave a heavy sigh. 

He saw the cursor flash. 

Steve didn’t want to write the email, but.

But he had to. 

To:  archival@dynamos.net

From:  stevegrogers@dynamos.net

_ Occupancy confirmed. Confirmed location from Historical Record.  _

  
He closed his laptop, and got into bed, trying not to think about the things that played over in his mind.

His laptop pinged. 

His laptop  _ never _ pinged. 

Steve threw the covers off of him and opened up his computer. 

To:  stevengrogers@dynamos.net

From:  archival@dynamos.net

_ How many people were in the room that you observed? _

Steve bit his lip, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to ask any questions as to why the archival team ( _ AI?)  _ answered back or knew that he was in a room.

To:  [ archival@dynamos.net ](mailto:archival@dynamos.net)

From:  stevegrogers@dynamos.net

_ Two. More, but two big players. _

It was a mere minute before he got a new email. 

To:  stevengrogers@dynamos.net

From:  archival@dynamos.net

_ More information is needed in order to fulfill the mission _


	15. Chapter 15

Steve watched as the days went on and on. He kept checking his watch to see whether or not the device -  _ No. Not a device. He is a person _ \- if  _ Bucky _ was back. 

**_Data signature not in Area._ **

**_Please move closer to get_ **

**_a more accurate reading._ **

Steve groaned in frustration after the 20th time checking to see if the message has changed. Steve took the watch off and tossed it on the couch. He should have run the signals beforehand. He should have paid more attention to the job. Steve started to kick himself. 

Steve didn’t want to focus on this...whatever was going on in his brain. He wanted to call Bucky. Ask him what was going on. 

If Bucky wanted to even share anything with Steve, let alone talk with him. 

But would he lie? Tell him that he was just on an overseas job?  _ Maybe that wasn’t him, _ Steve thought.  _ A clone. An AI system. A hologram. _

_ Maybe this is all a simulation. Everything around him was just a test. This has to be a test. This is a - _

The microwave beeped. 

Steve snapped himself back to reality, as he tried to slow down his breathing. He quickly got the hot dish out of the device and set it down on the counter to cool, only to sit down on the floor, letting the cool surface ground him. His mind drifted back to his childhood. At times he had to learn at home because his body just didn’t have the energy to move. There was a cure, but his mom didn’t have enough money. He knew that going into high school. The idea of skewed reality always was behind his brain. 

The ringing in his ears subsided, only to leave a small trace of blood on the edges of his ear. Steve stumbled onto his feet, stabilizing himself, before walking to the bathroom and splashing water on his face, and took a breather. 

_“A shift?”_ _Steve asked Sam and Natasha._

_ “We’ve had a few other people experience this before. Granted we only had a few others sent back to change history,” Natasha commented. “The shift happens when something major occurs, and history changes.” _

_ “The Butterfly effect,” Sam stated. “When you kill a butterfly-” Sam started.  _

_ “I know the expression,” Steve cut in.  _

_ “-it can change the course of history,” Sam continued. _

_ “He likes saying it. Makes him feel powerful,” Natasha commented towards Steve.  _

_ Sam rolled his eyes. “Damn right it does,” he muttered. “Just,” Sam sighed. “Don’t do stupid shit. Don’t go and run to the news and scream about the fact that the next president is born on August 23rd, 2021. Shifts for us will take place every two hours until you come back, but you might experience one or two depending on if you complete the objectives.” _

Completing the objectives. 

Steve was on the right path, even if it hurt like hell. 

Patting his face dry, he walked to his room and dug out the old historical record. Nothing changed. Not a single page, and he considered emailing the Archive to see if there was any new information. 

A knock on the door, and a soft thud, took him from his competing memories. He grabbed the package and sat on his couch. 

It was a new historical record.

He flipped through the new pages, and ended up on the section labeled  **_Franklin & Nobel_ ** . He kept it open, but set it to the side. He needed something to compare, and the fact that the old Historical record didn’t disappear since it was already in the past. He hauled the second one to his area where he sat, and found the most similar page to compare. 

The company’s information was still the same. 

**Franklin & Nobel: **

**Incorporated:** Unknown

**Historical Points:**

  * 1945: Public Knowledge of F&N due to introduction of stock.
  * Started as manufacturer for goods post-WWII
  * Currently handled by a Singular director as of 2014 
    * Current Director unknown.



Steve cross checked the old Historical Record. Nothing about Bucky in the old record, but in the new Record -

He flipped to the pages that he wanted to see. 

That he wanted to confront. 

Bucky’s photo was on the top right hand corner. Recent. Maybe a couple of years old. It wasn’t anything flashy, it didn't make him seem glamorous. 

Steve flipped to the last page of Bucky’s involvement, his original profile. 

There he was. 

Facilitator - a picture, no name: 

  * Sergeant in the US Army - 107th
  * Graduated top of his class at Yale in Business
  * Died 2021



Steve rubbed his temples, trying to stop an oncoming headache. Stress started to pile onto his shoulders and out of pure frustration, picked up the Historical Record and threw it against the wall, letting the pages scatter. Steve sat down on the floor, pages and pages around him like leaves in Fall.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.  _ Only here a few months and already thinking that seasons are the norm _ , he thought. This was one of the reasons he didn’t like making a mess. He didn’t like getting too close; he didn’t like flying too close to the sun. 

Steve wished Bucky wasn’t... _ Bucky _ . Wished that he didn’t love Bowling. Wished that his body didn’t respond to Bucky’s touch. Steve wished that whoever did this to Bucky didn’t rip his brains out and mold it like play-dough. He stood up and paced, and became angry at each thought that ran through his brain. His hands formed into fists, and a second later his right hand was through the thin drywall. 

He pulled his hand out of the wall, dusty and bloody, his cuts already starting to heal. “No,” Steve said as he wiped his hand on his pants, “no. I'm not gonna let the future win so easily. Bucky...Bucky will not be controlled like this. There has to be a way to fix this.. Has to be a way around what has already been done.” 

He could take Bucky out of the equation….and still save him.  _ There has to be a way. _

Steve’s apartment felt decidedly large and empty. “God, I hate time travel.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Increasing the rating to M due to adult sexual content in this chapter and future ones.

Steve cleared up the papers that were scattered throughout his place, and over the next few days got supplies to fix up the wall where he put a fist size hole. There was still no word from Bucky. Steve sent him a couple of texts, hoping that he would snap out of whatever the guards were doing to him, to check his phone or send some sort of signal. He fell into a simple routine during the days with no contact. The historical record didn’t update Bucky’s current list of the year. 

Not Bucky’s. The Facilitator. The person who was able to persuade and teach people a lesson when it came to accepting these deals, usually with aggressive force.

Steve was frustrated that he just couldn’t look up where he was and go to wherever Bucky was and take him to that warehouse in the outskirts of New York City.

Steve had to wait. 

Steve rolled over in his bed, turning off his annoying alarm and stared up at the ceiling and sighed. Another day.

* * *

Steve padded into the kitchen, and sipped his coffee, watching the news. The day ticked on - checking his stocks, and did a little work to keep up appearances, if only for himself. By lunchtime he was creating a plan. 

It ended three ways, two of which caused either him or Bucky dying.

* * *

More weeks passed. Steve gave up on contacting Bucky. March turned into April with what felt like no change. Days were blurring together, one day into the next. Until -

Until one night when Steve plated his salmon and brought his meal to the couch as he watched the news. He had become almost obsessed with trying to figure out if a death was due to the Facilitator or not. His list of reported peoples grew longer, but days like today where the top story was about a bulldog that can skateboard lost his leg in an accident and was riding again, allowed for him to turn his brain off from the obsessive thoughts. 

Until a knock came to his door.

Nothing drastic occurred. No immediate shifts in time. Maybe his neighbors?  _ No, _ Steve furrowed his eyebrows,  _ I don’t speak to any.  _

Steve blindly opened the door, only to face -

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky sheepishly smiled. “Miss me?”

* * *

Steve had his hands on the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee to brew. He felt a hand on his back, and jumped slightly. The physical contact broke immediately. 

“Sorry,” Bucky apologized softly.

Steve turned around and looked at him. He looked the same. The same as his photo in the Record. “It’s s’alright,” Steve smiled and tried to look as though things weren’t awkward. 

Even though it was extremely awkward.

“Coffee’s almost done if you want -” Steve started to speak. 

“My phone was destroyed in a car accident,” Bucky said quickly. 

“What?” Steve asked immediately. “I mean, are you okay?”

“I’m - I’m fine,” Bucky leaned onto the counter near Steve, arms crossed. “The phone wasn’t so lucky. I was in the middle of nowhere Poland, and just used the hotel and worksite landlines.” 

“For a whole month?”

“Everyone I worked with was already there.”

“Uh, huh,” Steve said, not even realizing how unconvinced he sounded. 

“I didn’t cheat on you,” Bucky said.

“Cheat-  _ cheat?” _ Steve’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “I haven't heard from you for two months and you come to my place, say you were in a car accident  _ in Poland _ , and your main concern is that you didn’t cheat? Bucky, how could we cheat? We’re not even together.” Bucky was silent, and Steve was worried he went too far. “I’m sorry,” he immediately apologized. 

“No, you’re right, it’s a lot upfront.”

“How about this, I didn’t cheat on you either?” Steve poured himself a cup. “You gave me  _ specific instructions _ .”

Bucky scratched his neck, and accepted a cup that Steve gave him. “Okay, yes, I do remember that,” his cheeks flushing slightly. “That was weird, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Steve laughed. 

“But in all seriousness, I was up all night during those months just fucking talking about you.”

Steve tried to not think about those words as soon as they entered his brain. “I’m sure your employees were sick about the topic.”

“‘ _ Ah, young love’ _ , they kept saying,” Bucky smiled. “Look,” he sighed. “I’m sorry I caused you a lot of stress.”

“Apology accepted and received.” 

Bucky smiled, as he took a sip. “Thank you, for the coffee by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve smiled and walked out of the kitchen area into the living room, and changed the channel. “C’mere,” Steve sat on the couch. “You must be exhausted.”

Bucky followed suit, and sat down next to Steve. They drank their cups of coffee in light silence as the TV played in the background, as silence settled them down. “Before we continue, I think we have to talk about something.”

“What is it?”

“You saw me at the facility.”

Steve sunk into the couch. 

“I can’t talk about….a lot of it at the moment. At all. It is true that I went to Poland. But, I’m not ready to talk about what I really do over there,” Bucky’s voice got quieter. “I don’t know why you were there. I don’t  _ want _ to know. Not right now. But, I want to acknowledge that I saw you. I remember you. I can’t get you out of my head.”

* * *

“Want to order in?” Steve grabbed Bucky’s mug from the table. 

“How about that Greek place on 21st street?” Bucky answered.

“Greek?” Steve questioned. 

“C’mon. Gyros? Souvlaki?” Bucky leaned on the back of the couch. “You never had Greek food? Foods of the Gods?”

“Nope,” Steve replied. 

“Man, your hometown sucks."

* * *

They unwrapped their food, and opened their sodas, and started to eat what was in front of them. “So, tell me about your family,” Steve smiled. 

“Uh,” Bucky cleared his throat and set down his fork. “My step-dad is the CEO.”

Steve practically choked on his food. “Sorry,” he said as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You work for your dad?”

“Yeah, sort of. I hope that’s not too weird?” Bucky pushed out his words. “He married my mom when I was 15 and started working for him after I graduated college,” he scratched the back of his neck. “That’s why I came here actually. I, uh,” Bucky sighed. “I want you to meet him. I know,  _ I know  _ it’s not the traditional route, and we’ve barely set the parameters of what’s going on between us but, I just want you to meet him.”

* * *

Bucky pushed the plastic containers into Steve’s trash. “Thank you for the meal, and the company. As well...as well as forgiveness. I really needed those tonight.” 

“You’re welcome,” Steve smiled. “I don’t want to gloss over what happened in Pennsylvania.” 

“I don’t either, but I can’t explain things right now.” 

“Okay,” Steve sighed. “Thanks for introducing me to the wonders of a Gyro.”

“Still can’t believe you didn’t have one Gyro growing up.”

“Never found a place.”

“Wild,” Bucky said in wonder. “Did you just eat white bread sandwiches all day?”

“Hey, I take offense to that. Thai and Korean food was a big part of my young adulthood. I lived above a couple restaurants...out West. It was the best food I ever ate.” 

“Oh thank  _ God _ , something normal,” Bucky laughed. 

“As normal as normal gets,” Steve shrugged. Steve watched him as Bucky mulled around in his thoughts briefly. “So,” he continued and walked over to the couch and sat on the back, and looked at Bucky more as he put on his jacket. “I have to confess something.”

“We’ve had a lot of confessions tonight already, but go ahead.” 

“I cannot stop thinking about that kiss in the park.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Really?” Bucky practically scoffed, and continued on with putting on his shoes. 

“Your hand on my cheek, your…” Steve sucked in a sharp breath and started to move towards Bucky. “Your beard scratches against my skin,” Steve paused as soon as he was inches away from Bucky’s face, feeling his warm breath on his skin. Bucky didn't look up at Steve. His eyes hidden. Steve took a finger under Bucky’s chin and moved it up, so his grey eyes locked with Steve’s. 

So old.

Filled with memories far more violent than Steve’s, but yet filled with more life and energy that could spark up a room. 

“Your lips on mine,” Steve continued before Bucky closed the space between them. The kiss was softer, but more controlled. Bucky snaked a hand onto Steve’s waist, which elicited a sharp breath of pleasure from the physical contact. 

“Couch,” Bucky breathed as he broke apart, and Steve nodded. He backed up into the piece of furniture before practically falling onto the pillow. Steve maneuvered himself so his back was on the furthest arm rest, and dragged his hand to Bucky’s waist and pulled Bucky onto his own body. Remembering that spark that he could not forget.

Their faces were close, inches apart. Bucky dragged his thumb across Steve’s jaw and smiled, only to kiss him again, deeply, with his hands traveling along Steve’s thigh. Steve dipped his head back, exposing his neck. Bucky moved his face to the exposed area, kissing deeply, with the intent of leaving a mark

“Fuck,” Steve breathed. 

Bucky stopped, and gave a couple more light kissed along his jawline. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “Just..it’s been a while.”

“How long?”

“Like, 200 years too long,” Steve said with seriousness. 

“That's a long time," Bucky chuckled. "I won’t judge, but I may bite,” he winked. Steve painfully groaned. 

“That was horrible,” Steve laughed, as Bucky settled to Steve’s side. “A year. In all seriousness, a year. It feels like 200 years.”

“Could’ve sworn you were serious, Steve. You had the most straightforward tone.”

“I’m an artist with words.”

“That’d make you a writer.”

“You’re no fun,” Steve said back.

“I’m a negotiator, I’m not allowed to have fun,” Bucky said.

“A graphic designer, and a negotiator. Who would’ve thought,” Steve looked at Bucky. There was a smile across his face, but it seemed so unfamiliar. 

“Not me,” Bucky smiled, and Steve smiled back. 

Steve got up from the couch. As much as his body protested from the lack of contact, Steve knew he couldn’t continue without telling the truth. 

...and he couldn’t do that quite yet.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked.

Steve sighed. “Yes! Yes. More than okay. I mean,” Steve opened his fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “I just...I just want to take things slow if that’s okay.”

Bucky’s eyes pleaded at him, but his expression changed almost in a blink of an eye. “Okay,” and smiled softly, ultimately settling on the decision. 

“It’s nothing against you I swear. I just...” Steve sighed, “I want to go  _ out _ with you. Just give me a month of you and me. Just to sort out some things.”

_ Just give me time to save you. _

“Understood,” Bucky smiled. “Oh, before I go; does 9pm at Zuko’s work for you tomorrow?”

“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” Steve awkwardly laughed. “I guess, sure,” Steve smiled. “I’ll get my tux ready.”

“Oh god, just wear a sports coat,” Bucky laughed. “Talk to you tomorrow,” he said, waving slightly and walking out the door.


	17. Chapter 17

Steve waited for a historical record to show up on his front door. He waited for a letter, he waited for...something. A week passed and Steve became frustrated. He needed to know what to do next but nothing arrived.

There was a pit in his stomach that was telling he was all alone. 

There was no one telling him he was safe. 

Steve toyed with his phone, this thumb lightly playing with the idea of calling Bucky. The sensor picked up the heat from his hand and automatically called.

“ _Hi,_ ” Bucky’s voice was soft. 

“Hey,” Steve said back. “How’s your day going?”

“ _It’s...going? Just finished with another meeting. I really hate these stupid suits_.” 

“Suits?” Steve peaked over to the clock. 4.30pm. 

_ “What?” _ Steve could hear the lilt in Bucky’s voice. “I _ can give you a few photos for you to save in your phone. _ ”

“No, no - I mean  _ yes,  _ I would like that. Never mind. Didn’t think the world of negotiating included suits.”

“It’s almost a requirement,” Bucky laughed. “You still okay for tonight?”

“Yes! I can still make it.”

“Okay, good. My dad wanted to make sure that we were still available.” 

“Still good. I’ll meet you at the table.”

* * *

Steve stuffed his hands in his pocket as he let the hostess bring him to the table. Bucky was sitting there alone sipping a glass of red wine. Steve smiled. It felt so natural. So intimate. The feeling inside Steve swelled, and tried not to think of anything else. The man in front of him put the glass down, and a smile spread across his face. 

“Hey there,” Bucky gave Steve a tight squeeze on his hand. Steve smiled. 

The waiter came by quickly and took Steve’s order before leaving Bucky and Steve alone again. “...Your dad?” 

“Just running a bit late. Had to finalize something with an agreement. It was mostly for show with the lawyers.” 

“Ah,” Steve nodded. Twenty minutes later, after almost finishing his last glass of wine, a voice started to get a bit louder from the back of the restaurant.

_ “Cecelia! Darling! How are you today? How’s your mom?”  _ and as if it was almost a response, Bucky stood up and buttoned his jacket closed. 

“He’s here,” Bucky said softly. Steve stood up, buttoning his own, and turned around. A man in his sixties, and a suit that almost resembles something out of an old presidential campaign. An internal alarm went off in his head, and tried to shake it. 

_ It’s just his dad. Nothing more. Nothing less,  _ Steve thought, as he dragged his hand to meet the man’s.  _ But, why do I feel like we have met before? _

“...and who do we have here?” Bucky’s dad chuckled. “Surely I didn’t invite a Fashion Week prospective.” 

Steve laughed, somewhat uncomfortably. “Steve Rogers, but you can just call me Steve.” 

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” his dad gave another once over. “Have we met before?” 

“I don’t...I don’t think so.”

“You seem so familiar. Are you sure? Maybe a party a few months ago on 5th Ave? Paris Fashion week last season?”

“Nope, to both accounts.”

“Dad, please,” Bucky’s exasperated voice broke the tension. 

“I just want to take your new...friend? Boyfriend?” his dad questioned. 

“Boyfriend,” Bucky mentioned. 

“Boyfriend?” Steve’s face lit up, and Bucky shot back a small smile. 

“Well, all I want to do is make sure this fine gentleman is fit enough for my son,” He smiled, eyes crinkling at the side. “Shall we order?” 

* * *

“How’s the steak...I don’t think I ever got your name?” Steve questioned. 

“You can call me Alex,” he replied. 

“Alex, how’s your food?” Steve was trying to be as polite as possible. Bucky just raised an eyebrow. 

“Delicious.  _ Zuko’s _ never disappoints. So, what do you do for a living?” 

“I’m a freelance graphic designer.”

“Wow!” Alex wiped his face. “James, you didn’t mention he was an artist.”

Steve mouthed the word “James” to Bucky. 

“Didn’t come up in conversation, Dad,” Bucky took a sip of his wine. 

“Y’know, we can use a person like you with your talents. Our marketing team can never find a solid designer for our products.” 

“Well, maybe when my contract ends, I can take it up with  _ James _ to get a foot in the door?” Steve said, teasing Bucky slightly in the process. 

“That’s not necessary,” Bucky took a bite of his food. 

The night continued on, filled with idle communication, and Bucky started to look a bit more closed off. Steve put down his glass. “I just gotta take a quick smoke break, I apologize,” Steve said to Alex. “Buck, you wanna join?”

“I don’t smoke,” he said a little quickly.

“I know,” Steve smiled.

* * *

Steve softly led Bucky’s back to the cool marble exterior wall. “What are you doing?” 

“You looked like you were about to burst into a ball of flames due to anxiety.”

“...and?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. 

“... _ and _ , I feel like you needed some air.” Steve said back. “You need to breathe. Take in the fresh air. Not the scent of you dad’s overdone cologne.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “You’re grounding me.”

“I mean, if you want that sort of play, it could be up for discussion…” Steve’s voice trailed off.

“Says the guy who wants to take it slow,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “It’s a therapy device. Anchoring. Grounding. When anxiety flares, usually your head gets lost in the stars, metaphorically of course. You seem to really whisk away all of those issues. You let me breathe when I can’t, and don’t allow me to float away.”

Steve stroked his chin and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Take you time.” Steve leaned right next to him, taking in the air as well. 

“I don’t like when my dad brings up work during conversations. He’s always done it. Always tries to deter the fact that he doesn’t have much in common with me and can’t create a normal conversation. All he cares about is that goddamn company.”

“How about this,” Steve looked at Bucky, “we take a couple of days off next week. Let’s take a trip to Rhode Island,” Steve offered. “Let’s go to the beach.”

“Steve, it’s barely 65 degrees outside.”

“C’mon. We can recreate  _ Nights at Rodanthe _ . Huddling by the fire, drinking tea, spilling our secrets before spending the night in bed,” Steve smiled. 

“You wouldn't want to know my secrets,” Bucky said, deeply.

“Are you two okay?” Alex’s distinct voice interrupted their conversation. “The dessert menu just landed on our table.” 

“Yeah, we’re good,” Bucky smiled. “C’mon, I want to devour a piece of cake. We’ll be in two minutes, I promise.” Alex nodded and went back inside. Bucky looked back at Steve. “Don’t take his offer. You’re better than that. Alexander Pierce only cares about Alexander Pierce.”

A name.

The CEO’s name. The current founder and controller of  _ Franklin & Nobel _ was...and currently is Alexander Pierce. Bucky pushed himself off of the wall. 

“Thank you for letting me get some air. You know me too well,” Bucky smirked, and placed a quick kiss on Steve’s cheek. “You coming inside?”

“Right behind you,” Steve smiled, and Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled before turning towards the door and heading inside. Steve took his phone from his pocket and quickly swiped up his email. 

To:  archival@dynamos.net

From:  stevegrogers@dynamos.net

_ Alexander Pierce is the name of the CEO of  Franklin & Nobel  in 2021.  _

Steve became weak in his knees, and almost fell to the ground. Steve clenched his teeth together and tensed his whole body through the wave of pain. His brain screamed, and blood dripped down from his ear.

_ Another shift. _

To:  stevengrogers@dynamos.net

From:  archival@dynamos.net

_ Suspicions confirmed. Alexander Pierce and any associates (file attached) must be removed from the timeline.  _

Steve wiped the thin layer of sweat from his neck and anxiously read through the file quickly hoping he didn’t see the one name he didn’t want to see as well.

Until he did.

* * *

Steve went back inside the restaurant, a little bit more wary than before. Bucky waved slightly. 

“I got you a creme brulee, if that’s okay?” Bucky said as Steve sat down. 

Steve smiled back. “That’s perfect, thank you.” 

They had the rest of their meal with light conversation surrounding nothing at all. The three of them stood outside waiting for Alexander’s limo. 

“Steve, a pleasure. I’m honestly  _ very _ glad that my son met you. Wouldn’t want him dating anyone else.”

Steve tried not to blush. “I appreciate it, sir.” 

“See?” Alexander smiled at Bucky. “He even knows how to be respectful.” The car pulled up. “I’m serious about the position at the marketing team. Please let me know. Until next time, Steve, and Bucky? You did a good job with finding a guy like him. See you later, kiddo.” 

“Bye,” Bucky waved, much more relaxed than when they were last outside. 

...and when Alexander Pierce got into the car, and the shadow hid his face, everything finally clicked into place. 


	18. Interlude II

“I can't believe this,” Sam had his head in his hands, alarm still blinking red. 

Natasha opened a can of beer. 

“It’s ten in the morning,” Sam judged her a bit harshly.

“One, fuck you. Two, it’s New Year’s Day, Three, we confirmed occupancy of the facility and that the CEO of  _ Franklin & Nobel  _ in 2021, who pushed for the company’s global takeover with aggressive measures,” Natasha took her can and pointed the drink to the rotating picture of higher up officials, “was one of  _ Dynamos _ ’ top donors, and fourth, there’s  _ another fucking shift  _ _happening_.” Alexander Pierce’s photo showed up in time. Natasha sighed. “What’s that signal anyway?”

“History is changing too quickly. We,” Sam sighed. “We have to stay in this area until order is restored. The archive - you know what, fuck it, can I have a beer too?” Sam asked and Natasha passed him one. Sam opened the drink and tilted the can until half the beer was drunk. “The archive responded.”

“Is that possible?”

“Up until it happened, no. I didn’t even know that was possible. So the alarm,” Sam sighed. “Outside of Dynamos, time...time doesn’t exist.”

“Didn’t that happen when Steve went back?”

“Yes, and no. It happened, but time wasn’t changing this much.”

“So the fact that Steve...or the Steve before, didn’t get this far and failed, is why the time shifts didn’t occur as frequently?”

“Yes.”

“So,” Natasha took another sip of her can of beer, “we’re now Schrodinger’s institute?”

“Yep,” Sam sighed. “Until Steve completes his tasks that the archive has given him, we don’t step out of that main door.”

“What if he fails?”

‘We just gotta pray he doesn’t.”


	19. Chapter 19

Steve waited for the updated historical record to show up on his front door. He waited for a letter, he waited for...something. A week passed and Steve became frustrated. He needed to know what to do next but nothing arrived.

There was a pit in his stomach that was telling he was all alone. 

Completely on his own. 

_ Dynamos _ never reached this far...and if the historical record was nowhere to be found…Steve walked around his apartment, thinking still. 

If the historical record was nowhere to be found, then...then that meant that history was shifting. The future was shifting. 

...and if the future was shifting, that means that he was doing something right. Something that the other Steves didn’t get to. 

His phone started to ring. Bucky’s name was on the top. “ _ Hey -” _

Steve sighed. “We need to talk. Meet at my place?”

* * *

Steve flicked the light on, in his apartment, and dropped his keys onto the kitchen counter.

“You’re inviting me back to talk about...what, exactly?” Bucky sighed, like he knew what was going to be discussed. 

“Uh,” Steve leaned up against the kitchen counter. “I’m not sure how to...to put this into the correct phrase.” 

“You want to break up.”

“What?”

“That dinner with Pierce. I’m sorry. It made you feel awkward, rushed -  _ everything.  _ No time to process -”

“I’m from the future,” Steve blurted out. Bucky just stared at him. 

“What?” Bucky questioned and started laughing. “You really know how to distract me, Steve. Just say it.” 

“Say what?”

“Say that you don’t really like me. Say that what I do for my father’s company,  _ willingly- _ ” 

“Is it really willingly?”

“Huh?”

“Is what you do,  _ truly _ , from your own conscience?” 

Bucky cleared his throat. “I have been working for him all my life. I signed a contract. I know what I’m doing.”

“You saw me in the building. In that room.” 

“What room? I deal with board meetings. I wear a suit and tie and I-”

“ _ Bullshit!  _ He’s  _ using _ you and your skill! I  _ saw _ you. Your eyes behind that hair. Behind that tactical suit.” 

Bucky pursed his lips and didn’t say anything. 

“I get that you don’t believe the whole...future thing. But, I’m going to convince you,” Steve pushed himself off the counter and went to his bedroom to find the historical record, and flipped through a few pages. 

“How? How are you going to do that?” Bucky questioned from the other room.

“With this,” Steve held up the book with one hand as he walked back into the main room. He sat down at his desk, Bucky following suit on the couch, facing Steve. 

Steve flipped through a few pages, and pointed to the closest game. “Knicks vs. Lakers. The Lakers lose by one point. 108 Knicks, 107 Lakers. Game is at 2pm tomorrow.” 

“Impossible, a game like that is never in the middle of the day, on a weekday. Plus do you really think I pay that much attention to basketball?” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, what do you want? World news?” Steve asked as he flipped through some more pages. “Entertainment? Natural disasters? What will you pick?”

“You can’t possibly have that much time as a graphic designer to put that together?” 

“That’s because I’m a researcher at your father’s company.” 

“Oh give me a break,” Bucky scoffed and picked up his jacket before getting up from the couch. “If you wanted to break up you could have just said so,” he said before slamming the door on his way out.

* * *

Steve sat down at the bar, Dimly lit, it felt like he was more in a movie than in the dinghy bar to watch a basketball game. Since things were being changed inconsistencies happened, so Steve hoped that the historical record that he had was correct. 

“What would you like?” The bartender asked as he idly wiped down the bar. 

“Anything that’ll help the Knicks lose,” Steve laughed. 

“Beer it is. Strange that this game is on a weekday.”

“I heard it’s because there’s a big concert goin’ on. Sold out and everything,” another person piped up. Not just another person. Pierce. “Well, how about that. Steve Thought I recognized that tenor from somewhere,”

* * *

Pierce turned his chair to face Steve. “A Knicks fan?”

“Lakers.”

“Ah, I knew there would be something I didn’t like about you,” Pierce winked. “Can I buy you a beer? Man to man?”

“Sure,” Steve sipped the last of his glass. The bartender filled up the glasses again. The fans cheered on the televisions as a player on the Knicks scored their first basket. They sat in silence for a little bit. Both teams kept their scores neck and neck. 

“Who are you, Steve?” Alexander Pierce said quietly. Steve turned to him. The bar seemed emptier; the bartender at the end of the other side, minding his own business. 

“What do you mean? Steve furrowed his eyebrows. 

“You seem to be either really good at hiding your identity, or there’s something more to it. I just can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I’m just trying to do what is best for my son.”

Steve tighten his hand around his glass. “I promise you, I want to do the same for him.” 

“I have my ways, rocket man.” Pierce said, as a player scored a basket as the game buzzer went off, and it seemed like the bar came back to life. “Looks like your Lakers lost, Steve. How unfortunate,” Pierce drank the last of his beer, placed a $100 bill on the table, and gave Steve a clap on the back. “Hope to see you around.”

**Bucky:**

_ Lucky bet. How much did you win? _

...was all Steve go from Bucky an hour later. 

**Steve**

_ Bowling to be added _

_ to the Olympics in 2024.  _

_ Announcement on Thursday _

**Bucky:**

Bullshit. No one wants

to cheer for that. All they want

is the high impact stuff. 

His phone was quiet for a couple of days. Steve turned on the news. The newscasters flashed a smile as they shuffled their papers. 

_ “Now for some fun sports news. Bowling will be added to the 2024 Paris Olympics. How fun, Alex! Do you think you and your team can qualify?” _ the female newscaster asked as she gave a smirk and shuffled her papers. 

Alex looked over and gave a laugh. “ _ Don’t underestimate the skill of  _ Team Blue Lightning!”

_ “Looking forward to seeing you, and the amazing athletes that will be participating in Paris 2024. _ ” 

Steve turned off the TV, letting his reflection stare back at him. 

He waited.

...and waited…

...until his phone buzzed. 

“ _ Bowling for 2024? I think...I don’t know _ ,” Bucky stopped talking midsetence, for a few seconds. “ _ I really don’t know what to believe, Steve.” _

“Whatever you believe, I need you to meet me somewhere other than here. I think the place is bugged.” 

“ _ Where? _ ” 

“Where the Rook can overtake the King. Tomorrow morning.” 

* * *

Steve hoped...and assumed Bucky knew where to go. He had been waiting at the chess table for the past hour. All of a sudden, what seemed to be a sandwich, wrapped in thin aluminum foil was plopped in front of him. 

“You better tell me everything,” Steve looked up to Bucky, holding a sandwich of his own. 

“...and you better do the same.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains descriptions of Canon Typical violence and Canon Typical violence.

They both sat in silence, not wanting to talk about any of the truths they were holding on to, enjoying the weather, the sun. 

Steve was hesitant, not because he didn’t want to complete his job, but he didn’t want to go back to the place where there was little sun. Where the buildings were so high that he couldn’t figure out what type of weather was going to be, before checking in with the  **_S.A.R.A.H._ ** system. He wanted the sun on his skin for as long as possible. 

“ _ If  _ you’re from the future, when do I die?” Bucky stated out of the blue.

“I don’t know details like that.”

“When’s the president going to die?”

“Can’t share information like that,” Steve sighed. “That’s a pretty big piece of information.”

“So, what  _ can  _ you tell me, Doctor Who?”

Steve wiped his mouth with a napkin before tossing it to the side of his unfinished sandwich. “I can’t tell you your death date because...it doesn’t exist.” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, as Steve waited for a shift. For the world to suddenly start shaking. There was nothing. “Your death doesn’t exist because as far as this,” Steve moved the tinfoil out of the way, and placed the Historical Record on the table. “You will not exist after a certain date.” There was silence. “I came from the year 2292, and I am here to stop  _ Franklin & Nobel  _ from becoming a bigger global empire, run by Alexander Pierce. Your father.” Bucky sat across from Steve, with slight astonishment that he said it all with a straight face. “Now, your turn.”

“I’m,” Bucky sighed. “I told you what I do for  _ Franklin & Nobel _ .” 

“No,” Steve retorted. “You said what you wanted to hear. You-”

“ _ You _ don’t get to tell me what I can and cannot divulge,” Bucky spat back. “Do I need saving? Am I that  _ important _ to the future? Does the future rest on my fucking life?”

“ _ It rests on mine!”  _ Steve practically shouted. The pigeons that were pecking away at the fries on the ground flew away and some people looked over to the small commotion that Steve caused. Steve leaned on the table, and took a few breaths, calming down. 

“Am I that important to you?” Bucky asked.

“At first you were pretty much just a data signal on my communicator. Nothing more, nothing less. But the times I spent with you, at the museum...the bowling alley...hell, even eating these  _ fucking delicious sandwiches _ , incredibly hungover. Things started to mean more. There was a Steve before me. A Steve that saw you when you were dirty, punched up...I can’t explain it. It’s like experiencing deja vu. Like you watched a clip of something and start to think it’s your own memories.”

“A Steve before?”

“I’m apparently another try.” 

“Another try to…”

“To save the future.” Bucky leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head, letting his silver arm show in full view. It seemed so docile. So innocent. Just a standard prosthetic arm. Steve tried not to think about how those hands could be so soft on his body, but also so dangerous on others. “How did they make you feel detatched?” Steve asked. 

“Some sort of string of words. I think it started as soon as I graduated college. Some sort of Pavlovian training.” 

“Can you wake up from it? Or once you’re under, that’s it up until there’s another string of words?”

“I've woken up from it once before. Middle of a kill. Was strangling a guy, and didn’t know what would happen if I stopped. I try not to do it because I don’t know what I’m going to be facing.” 

Steve had an idea, but he didn’t want to put Bucky in danger. He was trying to find a loophole, not give him more trauma. The Historical Record was still in front of them. “It’s getting a bit warm, do you want to head back to my place? Get some A/C?” He saw Bucky’s eyes flicker to the binder of paper, and slipped it into his bag. 

“Yeah, it’s starting to get a bit humid.”

* * *

“So, that record - is it really just called the Historical Record? They couldn’t give it any more gravitas?” Bucky asked as he poured water into a cup. 

“We can’t talk about it here. Bugs.” 

“Right, sorry,” Bucky took a sip of the water and sat on the couch. Steve idly thought about the time they were together. So close, that Steve could feel the skin of Bucky’s face against his. He wanted that again. That closeness. “So,” Bucky started a sentence then didn’t finish. 

“I gotta work on the debugging,” Steve quickly said, before something else was going to happen. Steve ran a hand through his hair, hoping that would calm himself down a bit. Self-anchoring. Steve started to grab a chair and deconstruct the fire alarm. He was trying to get his mind off of...everything. Nothing in the fire alarm. 

Steve got down and went to the television set, and pulled apart the remote. Nothing. 

Bucky got up from his chair and moved across the room. Steve’s back was against Bucky’s still looking for something. How would Pierce know? How did Pierce know, unless the  _ Rocket Man  _ nickname was commonplace for him. 

There was only so much information he divulged -

“Alexander, hi. It’s James.” Steve paused at Bucky’s voice. “Yes, I have what we’re looking for,” Bucky said. His voice was more gravely than usual. Steve turned around to Bucky with the historical record under his armpit, his phone to his ear, and a gun pointed directly back at Steve. 

“Fuck,” Steve swore under his breath. 

“You got that right.” 

“Bucky, put the record down.” 

“Gotta go, Alexander. We’ll be at the facility soon,” Bucky said calmly, as he took the phone from his ear, and shoved it into his pocket. “You’re coming with me.”

“Why...and to where?!” 

‘Were you not listening? We’re going to the facility.”

“Give me back the historical record. Bucky, just you holding this is dangerous.” 

“Is it a device that can blow up?”

“No. What’s inside is much more powerful.”

“It’s a book,  _ Steve _ . What’s in a book cannot be that powerful, and if it is, I’m not giving this up. I need this. This is the break I need.”

“What break?!”

“This’ll get me out of killing five people!”

“You didn’t meet your quota for doing so last month?!” 

“Actually, I succeeded,” Bucky stepped forward, gun still pointing at Steve. “Went over my final count from the previous month. Dad was so proud.  _ So loving _ . But, it wasn’t enough. You were the shining star in his life. Something dependable. Nothing like me when I’m used as a mere pawn in his global game of chess.” 

“ _ It doesn’t have to be like this, Bucky!” _

“ _ It does! It will  _ always  _ be like this Steve!”  _ Bucky was practically yelling, and placed the tip of the gun on Steve’s forehead. “I will always be the company’s monkey! I will always be the one complying! This.  _ This _ record is the key to  _ Franklin & Nobel’s  _ success! We can predict economic crises, global disasters...you name it! The company will always be one step ahead, and I don’t have to  _ fucking succumb to the will of the company -”  _

Steve grabbed the gun out of Bucky’s hand, de-loaded the gun, and slid it out of both their reaches, before Steve twisted Bucky’s metal arm. The historical record dropped to the ground. 

“Bucky! This isn’t you!”

“How do you know that, Steve!” 

“ _ Because the Bucky I know _ . The Bucky  _ I spent time with. I kissed. I learned to love _ . Isn’t the villain,” Steve paused to catch his breath. “The Bucky I know is the pawn in Pierce’s game of corporate domination. The Bucky I know is a victim. I have to take both of you out of the timeline. I’m not killing you Bucky. I was never going to.” 

Bucky’s eyes fluttered, as he took some deep breaths, and passed out. Steve scrambled to him and carefully picked him up. It wasn’t an easy task, but he managed to get him to the soft pillows. Steve took a few steps back and observed. He saw the phone, the historical record on the floor. Steve took a few steps back to the phone, and snapped it in half.

* * *

Steve was sitting low in the chair opposite to Bucky when he woke up. “Y’know you’re not the prettiest when you wake up.” 

“Thanks for the confidence,” Bucky rubbed his eyes. 

“How much of everything do you remember?” Steve asked as he leaned forward in his chair. 

“I was _him_ , wasn’t I?” 

“Yes, you were.” 

“...The last thing I remember was ordering the sandwiches at the deli.” 

“Fuck,” Steve sighed. “Quick question. Does the Soldier know things you don’t? Like does he block out things you don’t want to remember?” 

Bucky sighed. “Yes...and no. I don’t get to choose what my other part of the brain stores. I mean. It’s pretty traumatic, so I wouldn’t be surprised. I haven’t gone to a doctor.”

“So they have deeply conditioned you to block information that they don’t want to hear. Did you remember our conversation at the park?”

“Vaguely. I do remember that you’re…” Bucky paused. 

“From the future, yes.” 

“Okay, I thought that was fake, but okay.”

“Really?

“No. I really have my doubts.”

Steve ran a hand over his face. “The historical record. Pierce knows about the record.” 

“The big book of everything, right?”

“Pretty much.”

“So,” Bucky sighed. “What are you going to do?”

“I think the question is, what are  _ we  _ going to do?”


	21. Chapter 21

Steve got into his room and grabbed his duffel bag, and started to put a few clothes in, his stealth suit, quilt, other items, and certainly last but not least - his communicator device. It took him barely ten minutes to shut down his place. 

“Steve,” Bucky said from the couch, but no answer. “ _ Steve.” _

He turned around quickly. “Yeah?” 

“C’mere.” 

“What?”

“Just c’mere.” 

Steve placed his bag down near the record player, and walked towards Bucky. As soon as he was close enough, Bucky leaned upward to hook his hand around Steve’s face and bring it closer to kiss. It was a deep passionate touch that Steve hadn’t felt in a long  _ long _ time. Steve faltered briefly before putting his hands behind Bucky’s back and pressing close. He felt Bucky’s hand move down to the side of his face and start to caress his cheek with the pad of his thumb. Bucky broke the kiss first. 

“What was-” Steve said, almost breathlessly.

“Thank you," Bucky started to say, but took a couple of moments to continue. " For...for the help. For being someone that cares about me.”

Steve leaned in for a quick but touching kiss. “I’m happy to be that person. There should be more.” 

Bucky didn’t say anything. “I don’t know what is about you Steve. It’s like it was fate.” 

“If fate were two people, I think their names would be Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff.” 

“Who?” 

“Never mind,” Steve smiled, and saw something on Bucky’s face that shifted slightly, but he ignored it.  _ It’s fine. It’s nothing. _

“What are we going to do? What’s your plan?”

“My plan is to remove Alexander Pierce from the timeline anyway possible. I also have an e-mail to send but I’ll do that on the way to Pennsylvania.” 

“Priorities,” Bucky ran a hand through his hair. 

“Do you have any clothes with you?”

“Didn’t think I was going to go on a trip, to be quite honest.” 

“Well,” Steve sighed. “Let’s go to your place, and get some clothes.”

“What about the whole...saving the future?”

“Well,” Steve sighed. “I’m not dead yet, so we must be doing something right.”

* * *

Steve pulled the black baseball cap down low on his face before handing Bucky a train ticket. “Phillidelphia, train departs in an hour. Let’s try and lay low. We will get to the city and go to a hotel not too far away from the factory. We will go to see Pierce tomorrow.

“Why not now?” 

“I think that we’ll just be better prepared.” 

“Okay,” Bucky sighed and put his baseball cap lower. They walked to the station chairs, and hung out for the better portion of the time waiting for the train. Nothing happened. It was serene. 

Something was wrong. 

Steve looked around, and tried to do so inconspicuously. “Hey,” Steve nudged Bucky’s elbow. He responded with a slight hum. “When does the train arrive?”

Bucky took his phone out of his pocket before checking the time. “Next...five minutes or so. They’ll call for boarding in ten and generally the train will leave in twenty.” 

Steve turned around to look at the platform. Train still wasn’t there. “Come with me,” Steve picked up his duffel and got up from his seat. 

“Why?” 

“I think we’re being followed. Act normal. Like..like a couple in love.” 

“Aren’t we?” Bucky winked.

“We need to get away from him. He looks like a guy that would start a fist fight in a…” Steve tried to think of a current day reference, “in a grocery store.” 

Bucky tried to find the man, but not  _ look _ at him. He was at his six position. Bucky turned back around. “I know him. I’ve seen him before,” he said quietly, and took Steve’s hand and started to walk into the busy station. 

“Where?”

“The facility.”

“What division?” Steve adjusted his hat, as he and Bucky weaved in and out of the people in the train station. 

“Not sure...he was always just around. Kind of making sure like things were going to be alright. Like a watchdog. His name is Brock something or other.” 

“Do you have any idea how he found out where we were? Was this independent research or do you think it’s because of Pierce.” 

“Could be both, honestly. Let’s go into here,” Bucky pointed at the smoothie shop, closest to the track. A doorbell rang, and a teenager turned around with a very tired look. 

“Welcome to Ro Ro’s Smoothies, I hope your day is going deliciously. How can I help you?” 

“Yeah, uh,” Steve started to speak but was cut off.

“Banana Split smoothie, two please,” Bucky handed the kid some cash, not caring about the change. 

“Sir, uh that is too big of a bill,” the teenager held it in his hand.

“Consider the rest a tip.” 

“Uh...I can’t take it. Against store policy.” 

“Just take the fucking money, kid. We’re kind of in a hurry,” Bucky said with a slightly gruff voice. 

“Will do,” the teenager hit some keys on the iPad and opened and closed the register, and started to run the smoothie machines. Steve idly walked to the cork board, and looked at the flyers. Business cards, notes, and one Lost Cat sign. Nestled, beneath the papers was a sign where people could fix their phones.  _ Useless tech _ , Steve idly thought. 

“Is he out there?” Bucky bumped Steve’s shoulder, before leaning onto him. 

“Yeah, watching us. What’s this?” Steve pointed to the picture on the phone flyer.

“Maps app icon.” 

“What do you mean, Maps?”

“Are you sure you’re not from the ‘40s?” There was no reply. “Gives you directions.” 

“Could said app be hacked and used as a tracker?” Steve looked at Bucky. It looked like a light went off. 

“I have an idea.” Bucky grabbed the two smoothies and handed one to Steve. “Train is probably gonna start boarding. Let’s go.”

Steve re adjusted his bag, before looking at something else on the corkboard. It was an outdated symbol...but he knew it. Could see it from a mile away. He grabbed the business card, took a sip of his smoothie and followed Bucky. 

They turned in and out of the incoming crowds, before heading down the escalator and into the departure area. The conductor walked back and forth in front of a couple of doors. “Five minutes from departure, people!” Bucky pulled Steve’s hand, and gripped it tightly as he led Steve on the train. Their feet touched carpet, and they kept walking, downward, going through doors to the next car. 

“He’s catching up; he’s three cars behind us,” Steve started to worry. 

“He can’t hurt me. It’s in his contract, “ Bucky said only loud enough for Steve to hear. “Here.” 

“What?” Steve paused in front of Bucky. 

“Let’s sit here. He can only see the tops of our heads.” 

Steve did what he was told, and sat. “Where is he?” Steve almost turned around and faced him again. 

“Don’t,” Bucky whispered and both felt the train start to turn to life. The lights started to power on, and people around the two of them became comfortable. Bucky dug out his phone and placed it in the cup holder. He leaned over Steve to the two men sitting next to them. One that had a lighter hair color, and one that had a darker hair color. “Excuse me? Sirs?” 

The two men idly looked over. 

“Hi, sorry to bother. Those seats you're sitting in is where my fiance and I first met. I was wondering if we can switch, or at least switch for a couple of moments so we can take a couple of pictures?” Bucky smiled, and Steve just tried to act along. He held Bucky’s hand again, stroking the side of his thumb with his. 

“Uh,” one of the men cleared his throat. “Sure, I guess.” 

“If it’s only for a few pictures, that’s fine. Wifi signal is strongest here.” 

“Gotcha. Hon, can we take a few with your phone?” 

“Sure,” Steve smiled. They switched seats without Brock noticing. He was on his phone. Steve took his phone out and snapped a few selfies. Steve handed the phone to the blond haired man, and allowed himself to get close to Bucky. They smiled, held hands. It felt normal. Something that Steve almost wished for. 

“There you go.” 

“Thanks so much. I’m gonna head to the bathroom before the train departs,” Bucky said, giving Steve a watchful eye. Steve padded his pockets as the men crossed paths again, putting on a show. 

“I lost my watch,” Steve whispered just loud enough that the others could hear. “Could you just save our seats just for a few minutes? My fiance will be right back.”

“Uh…”

“Please? Won't take more than a few.”

“Whatever. Your jacket will be on the other side of the aisle.” 

“Thank you so much,” Steve said as he turned around quickly and headed for the closest door. The door started to close, and Steve shrugged his body through just enough space, as if luck truly existed. The train started to move, and move. “How far do you think he’ll get until he notices?”

“Probably when he passes Harlem, but I’m crossing my fingers for Stamford.” 

“Y’know, you could make up any city and I still won’t really know what you’re talking about.”

* * *

Steve and Bucky grabbed their duffel bags from the smoothie shop and made their way down to the correct train, without anyone tailing them. They had a bit of freedom for now, and Steve could feel the weight off of his shoulders. At least for the duration of the train ride. They sat down in their assigned seats, and took a deep breath. As Bucky went to the restroom, Steve dug into his pocket. The business card. 

_ Dynamos: Innovators for the Future! _

It probably didn’t mean anything at all, but Steve folded it back up and placed it into his pocket. It meant something though, to Steve. It meant that he was on the right path.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains adult situations such as sex and mutual masterbation.

Between the passengers, and him and Bucky, everything seemed quiet, as if he was going towards his own funeral processional. He didn’t even notice that he closed his eyes, until Bucky nudged him awake. 

“Hey,” his hair tickled Steve’s forehead. “We’ve stopped. End of the line.” 

“I think,” Steve rubbed his eyes. “I think that’s us.” He got up and stretched as best as he could with the space he had. “Are there any non-cell phones around?”

“Like a pay-phone?” Bucky questioned, and Steve just gave a blank stare back. “Pay to use a phone. Can really only find them in abandoned electronic store lots.”

“Well, are there any abandoned electronic stores around?” Steve asked back. 

“Probably not, but can probably have someone in the ticket booth give a call. After calling for a taxi, they got in the car and started to hike to the closest motel. It was far from the fanciest, almost in the middle of nowhere, but it had a bed and a working bathroom. 

“So, tell me about the future, Steve,” Bucky said, while he lounged on the bed, flipping through a four year old magazine. 

“What about it?” Steve sat down on the chair near the table. 

“I don’t know...do you have tablets that you put on a plate and place it in a microwave-like device, and  _ pop _ , there’s a turkey dinner?”

“What? No. Everything is plant based, but a lot of food is based around ancient recipes - like this era.”

“You’re telling me there's an ‘ancient recipe’ for Wendy’s Baconator Fries?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t know if I want to know what you’re talking about.” 

Bucky just chuckled, and placed the magazine to the side. “All this food talk is giving me a hankering, but I also smell. I’m gonna take a shower.”  He got up from his bed and started to take off his clothes, without any hesitation. Steve tried to give him some privacy but all he could look at was Bucky’s body. The smooth skin over his taught muscles; the way his body contoured to his waist. 

The way the scar around his arm branched onto the top of his back. 

Bucky didn’t close the door when he turned the shower on. Steve walked up to the door, letting the light steam cascade over his face. “Bucky?” 

“Yeah?” Bucky responded from behind the shower curtain. 

“Can I…” Steve’s voice tapered off. 

“Would you like to take a shower?”

“Will it hold two people?”

“No harm in finding out.” 

“I would like that.” 

Steve took off his shirt, and shucked his pants and underwear at the same time, and opened the shower curtain, revealing all of Bucky.. Steve looked at him and only could say, “ _ Wow.” _

“The arm. I know it’s -” 

“You’re the most handsome person I’ve ever seen.” 

Bucky stood in the shower, the water still cascading down his torso. “You’re not half bad yourself.” 

Steve got into the area, and let the water hit his back. The warm water woke him up a bit more, and stood. It dripped over his head, onto his face, and Steve could only wiped away the water before he touched Bucky’s fake arm. “Can...can you feel anything?”

“Pressure. I can feel the weight of your arm on mine.” 

Steve dragged his hand down the front of his torso, feeling every scar on Bucky’s body. “Can you feel this?” 

“Lightly. Nerve endings missing, and all.” 

Steve dragged his hand lower until it landed on Bucky’s waist, and stepped a bit closer, water still cascading down the both of them. “Is it okay if I-”

“Yes,  _ yes _ ,” Bucky said, before Steve closed the bridge between the two. Their kiss was deep, and slow. Steve parted Bucky’s lips with his tongue, and slid his hand to Bucky’s butt, squeezing it slightly which elicited a moan. Bucky pressed forward, pushing their bodies together. Steve took a quick breath, letting some water enter his mouth. Bucky pressed his metal arm against Steve’s torso and moved down slightly. Steve kissed Bucky again and. “ _ Yes.” _

Bucky dragged his hand downward, encompassing Steve’s erect member, and started to stroke. Steve moaned deeply into Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky pushed his mouth back, matching Steve’s eagerness, as the warm water cascaded on them both. 

Steve felt like this lasted for hours. 

Hours after the moments of ecstatic bliss in the shower, they both lay in the bed facing each other. The only light that was filtering into the room was the buzzing street lamp from across the road. 

“Steve?” Bucky said lightly. 

“Hm?” Steve rolled over, and rubbed his face. “Everything okay?” 

Bucky sighed. “What if you’re not from the future?” 

“You’re asking me this now?” 

“I’m having thoughts about just going back. Back to the city and forgetting this all even happened.” 

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to die.” 

“...and I don’t want you to either.” 

“Then why are we doing this?”

“I want yo to survive. I don’t want to also -” Steve stopped his words, but Bucky didn’t interrupt. “I don’t want to also do what I have to do to your step-father.” 

“...and that is?”

“Remove him from the timeline.” 

“Oh.” Bucky and Steve were quiet for a few minutes. “Then promise me this; if things get out of hand, I want you to kill me.”  Steve started to protest, but Bucky held a finger up. “The facilty has practically complete control over me. It’s a process but, if it’s anyone, the team there is the one to take me over. I won’t take any answer other than no.”

Steve sighed. “Yes is not the answer I want to give...but if it’s your promise, I will. But damned if I will not try my hardest to get you out of this hell hole, and get you back to where I am from.”

“Even if it’s just Iowa?”

“Even if it’s just Iowa.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains canon typical violence.

Steve packed his bags once again, hoping it was for the last time. He folded his shirts, and sighed as a thought passed through his mind. 

He was going to miss the 21st. 

But...

But he missed his own place and time. His own era. However, if his mission was a success...the world he knew would hopefully be different. There was only three things he could do now. Kill Alexander Pierce, make sure that loophole still stood, and survive. 

Bucky shifted in bed and sat up slowly - his hair a mess from sleeping. "What time is it?" he said, his voice not quite woken up. 

"Nine in the morning." 

"Is that a good or bad thing? I can't tell." 

"Let's put it in the grey area." 

"The day?"

"13th." 

"Unlucky number 13," Bucky sighed, looking off into the distance. "Thirteenth..thirteenth..." Bucky snapped his fingers. "Meetings with a possible site in Moscow. I'm supposed to be the lead guard." 

"Okay," Steve responded. "Pierce knows you're coming right? With the record?" 

"Yeah, I'm supposed to be there by 10am."

"I need you to hand him this," Steve held up the book of papers. 

"Isn't that what you're not supposed to do? Not to give him the thing that will ensure the future of what you're dealing with?"

"It's the record, but not the correct one."

"There's an incorrect one?"

"Any time that the timeline is radically changed, a new one shows up on my door. I experienced what is called a shift - my brain adjusting to new things. There was a shift but nothing came afterword. I can only assume what is going on is that things changed so much that there was no need for it."

"Are there other people that traveled back in time?"

"Well, paradoxes and all. I think Natasha created a safety net to still make _Dynamos_ available in the future. I think that's how this thing," Steve pulled out the business card, "still exists. I think that's how paradoxes work. I don't know, Sam and Natasha never really explained it well."

"So that thing has the wrong information, and Pierce doesn't know that?"

"As far as I know I have a historical record that only you and I know is wrong."

"I think the next question is, how are we going to get you inside?"

Steve took a breath. "By getting me in plain sight."

* * *

After hailing a cab, Bucky and Steve got into the car. Both were suited up in his gear, with his hair still a bit tousled. Steve dropped his head against the back of the seat. 

"Hey," the driver stated.

"Hm?" Steve responded.

"Do I know you?"

"I don't think so."

"Yeah," the driver looked in the rear view mirror. "Your the guy who got that job as a security guard." 

"Shit," Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yep, that's me."

"You look a _lot_ less sweaty," the driver laughed. "Taking a drive down memory lane?"

Bucky cocked an loaded a gun that came out of nowhere. "Sir, please just drive."

"Holy _fuck,"_ the driver whispered. "I've been a cab driver long enough to know what a gun sound like being loaded."

" _Hey_ ," Steve said firmly and Bucky looked over. "I think we can put the gun down. I think he gets the idea."

"The idea - totally clear. Crystal even," the driver said pushing on the gas.

"I'll put the gun down when we arrive, and get explicit consent that you don't say a word."

"Buddy, I will sew my lips shut if you want me to."

"Then keep driving." 

* * *

The car pulled up to the gate. "Here you are. Free of charge."

"How can I trust you?" Bucky questioned, putting the gun down, in safety mode. 

"I'm a cab driver from Philly. That;s all you gotta know." 

"I'm from NYC, that doesn't mean shit." 

"I've been a witness to countless murders. I know how to delete my GPS. I know how to get those cops off of my trail." 

Steve continued to listen, but took a few steps back. 

"Then do that," Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out more than a few bills, "and keep your fucking mouth shut." 

"Aye aye," the driver said before slowly taking the money and started to scrub his phone.

Bucky turned around and met Steve at eye level. "Start walking." 

"Buck, what's going on?"

"I'm five steps ahead of you," Bucky said. "Follow my lead on this one." Bucky grabbed the historical record out of Steve's hand. "If you want to get through this, you have to trust me."

* * *

The door swung open, and they both walked through. Bucky and STeve walked through the hallway that seemed to stretch on forever. "Walk behind me. This is my territory. They technically don't know you. Follow my feet, if you want to keep your hat down, and keep your sense up. There here can get ugly quick."

"To me, them, or you?"

"All."

Bucky and Steve had relatively no trouble during the first stretch. Steve remembered this area. This was where -

"We gotta keep moving, Steve," Bucky said, not realizing that he was staring at a door, way behind Bucky. He looked up. 

**_Testing In Progress_ **

The signed wasn't lit up. In the back of his mind something itched. An itch that pulled. 

"You really don't wanna go in there," Bucky said.

"Why not?"

"I'm not ready to speak about it."

Steve walked forward and followed as Bucky turned a corner. A group of guards stood there, and Steve saw Bucky tighten his shoulders. A motion that STeve could only think of as " _Be ready."_

"Soldier, report," of the guards said.

"No mission to report."

"Then who is that behind you?"

Bucky looked at Steve. "Someone that will be helping the future of the company."

"I don't recall any meetings on the Boss' schedule about that."

"This is a private matter."

"I know you're the Boss' son and all but I _said_ I don't recall any meetings on his schedule."

"It's a personal matter," Steve responded.

"Was I speaking to you?" The guard walked up to him abruptly, but Bucky pushed him back with his metal arm. It was a hard push, per say, but it made the air go stale. "Soldier. _Stop_." 

"You do not control me."

"Soldier," the guard put a hand out as a warning. Bucky started to walk quickly up to the man, who didn't budge, and threw a punch. Blood splattered on the wall. Steve saw the second guard push through and grab something from his side. Within a few steps, Steve was near Bucky and kicked the incoming guard in the side of his torso, which ultimately pushed his face into the side of the wall. 

" _Soldier -!"_

"If you call me that one more _fucking_ time-"

"What are you going to do?" the guard spat out blood onto the ground. "We can just put you in the training center and -" 

Bucky picked him up by the collar. "I'm _done._ It's time for me to fight back!"

Another guard turned the corner and saw the commotion, and said something loud enough for everyone to hear. " _Oh fuck."_

The lights shut off and the red security lights blared..and the next thing Steve felt was a punch to the face. He saw the guard for another split second, pulling back his arm. Steve ducked and man aged to block the incoming punch with his hand, only to push him into Bucky. In turn, Bucky snapped the guy's neck. 

"I hope he wasn't vital in the future," Bucky said. Steve didn't respond., and watched as more guard filtered through. "Fuck," Steve swore under his breath." 

"You just killed a person and you're worried now?" Steve asked, stepping backward from the incoming crowd. 

"Never this many people before."

"How about this - I got your six. You have my six, and we try not to die."

"Got it." 

Ten guards on each side surrounded them. "Bucky," Steve started. "The record fell out of your pocket. It's by the wall. How do we get to Pierces office?" 

"He's on the 7th floor."

"Elevator?"

"Past the dumb fucks, three hallways down."

"Insult us again, Soldier, and you're dead meat," someone from the front said.

"I said what I said! Fuck it. Come at me. I don't have much to lose."

"I'm not even born yet!" Steve squared up, and saw Bucky look at him, with furrowed eyebrows, before throwing a punch at a guard, and getting blood on his face.

"That was," Bucky spit out the blood that landed in his mouth. "That was a weird sentence."

Steve threw a guard over his shoulder before cracking his knee in. "Yeah, it sounded weird coming out of my mouth." 

More blood, all from Bucky and Steve and the men trying to stop them. It felt endless but eventually there was a way to escape. Two men chased both Bucky and Steve until he hit the up button on the elevator. They took its time as the guards tensed up and tried to hit. Bucky and Steve sustained the punches. When the eleavator bell dinged, and the doors opened, they both quickly got in and hit the next button as soon as possible before a hand stopped the door. Bucky, exhausted, took his hand and crushed it. The screams slowly faded as the doors re-closed and the muzak took over. The elevator rose, floor by floor, until the autonomous voice sounded.

" _Seventh Floor."_


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains Canon Typical violence

The hallway was still red, and Steve could hear the alarm in the distance. 

"Where is..." he turned around to see two large wooden doors - they were almost out of place. "I'm guessing that's his office?"

"Yeah, he's ever the subdued one," Bucky stated as he walked up to the door, and placed his metal arm on the handle, before pausing. 

"Are you okay?"

"No."

"We can stop."

" _You_ can stop, Steve. You can start over. I have one shot at this." Steve didn't respond, and let Bucky take a breath while closing his eyes. They both heard footsteps coming from a few hallways away. Bucky squeezed the handle, bending it slightly, before turning it and opening the door. 

As soon as they were inside, Bucky locked the door. 

"Ah, you made it," Pierce said as he continued to type something on his laptop. "I hope I didn't lose too much of my staff. I don't want to rehire too many people at once. That might look suspicious." Pierce his a few more buttons on the keyboard before resigning his full attention to the two men. "Nice of you two to join me," he said softly as the alarms stopped. "Water? Sprite? Whiskey? I hope you didn't kill my secretary, I'm not sure where they put those drinks."

"Here," Bucky said as he practically threw the historical record on Pierce's desk. "This is what you asked for, right?" 

"Ah, yes," a smile washed across his face, "I knew something was up with you Rogers. Something that just seemed...off. Thankfully my wonderful son-" Steve saw Bucky's hand tighten into fists, "helped me with all of this _lovely_ information. I want to thank you for all of your continued hard work...and thank you Bucky, for pointing out all of those facts that just seemed a bit odd. Even when he wasn't reporting a mission, Bucky just wouldn't shut up about you. You should be flattered. I do have to ask though, really? No gyros?" Pierce got up from his chair and Bucky dropped his head slightly. 

Steve looked at Bucky for a second, before Bucky spoke. "He's not telling the full truth. He's manipulating what really happened. This happened all before..." Pierce leaned on his desk. 

"Before what?" Steve questioned."Before...just. _Before_. Please believe me, and don't belive him. Remember I am really not _me_ when I'm with him. You know who I am when I'm completely alone. When it's just you and me in the room." 

"Who are you siding with no, Steve?" Pierce picked up the historical record. "Yourself or the peorson who gave me the future in my very hands?"

"I trust," Steve sighed. _Could this be a double rouse?_ Bucky turned halfway. "I trust myself." 

"Interesting," Pierce commented and Bucky looked almost deflated. "...and what does your gut say? Does it want the future you already have or do you want to jump into the unknown and make it even better?"

"Look," Steve walked up to Pierce, "I'm not sure how you figured it out. If it was a fluke until I confirmed it or you actually have information. But, what I am telling you that there is no way in _Hell_ that I am trust you, _you manipulative asshole_." 

"Oh, look who finally showed up to the ballgame," Pierce laughed. "It doesn't matter now...whatever time you're from. I have _this_. This record will be my key to be able to expand _Franklin & Nobel's _empire." Pierce sat down again and pressed a button on his desk. Something clicked.

" _Fuck!_ " Bucky said loudly. A rando, string of words spoke quickly. Steve could only get a few words at a time. 

**_Seventeen_ **

**_Longing_ **

**_Nine_ **

The words changed language. Dead languages that haven't been spoken in hundreds of years. Bucky held his hands over his ears.

"You can't escape this, _son._ "

" _I'm not your fucking son!"_

"Step-son - who _gives a fuck! You_ are part of this company! Who do you serve?!"

The spoken word tape stopped, and Bucky's demeanor shifted, and immediately he sprinted towards Steve, punching him square in the face. Another punch. Blood seeped into Steve's mouth, but managed to catch Bucky's fist. Metal against flesh. Steve pushed back, causing Bucky to falter. 

"Use your brain, Soldier! This is not what we trained you for!" Pierce yelled as he was looking at the fight that broke out in front of him. 

"I was trained to be someone who helped your business no questions asked-" Bucky threw a punch to Steve's head, but missed it and landing it in the wooden floor. Splinters went everywhere. "I was trained to intimidate-" another punch was thrown, landing this time on Steve's abdomen, blood dribbling out of his mouth, "I was trained to be loyal." 

"That is right -" Pierce started. 

"But-" Bucky continued, "This is not who I am supposed to be."

"What are you talking about?!"

Bucky stopped throwing punches to get up from the ground and pulled himself out of his own thoughts. His own subconcious. From the side of his thigh, he grabbed a gun and raised it to Pierce, all while taking out two cylindrical shaped ear pugs from out of his canal.

"Those could not have helped you - _impossible!_ " 

"They didn't...well they did. To a point. I wasn't fully under." 

Steve coughed a few times, spitting out a mix of blood and spit. He rolled over and groaned before getting up onto his feet. "My name is Steve Rogers. I am a researcher at _Franklin & Nobel_. I have been recruited by Dynamos to look into finding what or who exactly was the cause of the global takeover of this company. My research indicates that it wasn't me -"

"How so?! This is yours!" 

"Not exactly. There is some information that is right, and wrong. Bowling made it into the 2024 Olympics -"

"Oh that is _bullshit -_ it's the worst sport."

"But there is also information that the Mona Lisa had been stolen - technically yesterday. That never happened. But, I can't tell you which ones are right and wrong." 

"You are one son of a -" Bucky cocked his gun at Pierce, cutting him off. "So, even though I raised you, and made you the next CEO in my will, you're gonig to kill me?"

"Parents can be horrible people too, Pierce. Sometimes they're just bad," Steve interjected. 

"Oh stick it with your moral crusade, Steve. Just because you have to kill me -"

"My orders were to remove you from the timeline. I did that with the historical record."

"Then why the hoopla with that?" Pierce gestured to Bucky. "Why stick that in my face if I am already 'removed from the timeline?' what ever that means." 

"Because killing is more of my job," Bucky said before shooting Alexander Pierce in the heart. As soon as the bullet left the barrel, Bucky clicked on the safety and placed the gun on the ground. 


	25. Chapter 25

Bucky wiped the blood splatters off of his face, and watched the pool of blood glisten from the sun that peaked through the windows. It was quiet. 

"Hey," Steve said with slight urgency. "Hey...hey, you okay?" 

"I just killed my only caretaker. Doing great, doing _just_ great," Bucky wiped his hands on his pants. "But this whole ordeal is done." 

Steve sighed. "It's done. It's mostly done for me."

Bucky looked over to Steve. "Are you going to kill me, too?" 

"What? No. I have an idea, but I'm going to have to use Pierce's computer."

"Probably shouldn't use it though. Your DNA is going to be everywhere." 

"I'm not technically alive." 

Bucky was at a loss for words. "What about me?"

"Just watch the door. I will be a few minutes." 

Steve pulled up the archival email quick. 

To: archival@dynamos.net

From: stevegrogers@dynamos.net

 _Alexander Pierce has been removed from the timeline. Multiple people on the previous list that has been sent also removed from the timeline. James "Bucky" Barnes_ _is in the process of being removed from the timeline._

Steve had to wait a minute before receiving the next email from the archive. It felt like an eternity. 

To: stevengrogers@dynamos.net

From: archival@dynamos.net

_Our records indicate that this information is true._

_Please use this code when you get to the station. The pod is being adjusted as we speak for your return trip._

_Please use code 2424948 to enter the station._

_Tickets will not be provided to Metro North._

_The code will be sent to your communicator._

Within seconds, Steve's communicator buzzed. The code showed up. 

"It's time to go," Steve said. 

"Go..." Bucky replied. 

"To go back." 

"Have you ever seen the movie _Back to the Future?"_ Bucky chuckled. 

"No."

"Okay, just thought you were going to say 'it's time to go back to the future'..." Bucky's voice trailed off as he just got a blank stare. "Nevermind, let's get out of here." 

They ran out of the office, and took the stairs, hoping to avoid any guards that were trying to get to Pierce's office. By the time they were down to the fourth floor, the two of them were skipping stairs. At the ground floor they almost broke the hinges off of the door, getting it open finally, and fleeing the facility, hoping to never see it again. Bucky and Steve ran through the forest, hoping that no one caught their trail. It was maybe twenty minutes before they came to a fence. They had to follow it - Bucky and Steve didn't know what else they could do unless they found a road. 

Another twenty minutes passed before they reached the corner of the fence. They had to jump it. They had to get over the wire. Steve went first, before helping Bucky get to the other side. A few minutes later, after a few cuts from the sharp wire, they found asphalt...and somehow the cab driver smoking a cigarette. 

"Oh _fuck._ I swear, _I swear,_ I didn't tell anyone. Look my phone," the cab driver pulled out the phone out of his pocket, "dead. Just dead. Doesn't work anymore. Was gonna dropkick it into the river -" the cigarette in his mouth almost fell out as he was talking.

"I'll give you a thousand bucks to drive us to NYC." 

"That's a done fuckin' deal," the driver said as he dropped his cigarette onto the ground, before stubbing it out with his shoe.

* * *

Bucky and Steve somehow managed to change out of their stained clothes and chucked them out of the window to the shrubs on the highway. Hours later, the cab driver pulled up near Grand Central, and Bucky got out of the car first. As he was paying the promised amount, the only thing that Steve took out of his duffel bag was the quilt. The warm piece of fabric that comforted him. 

"Where you two going?" the driver asked.

"Iowa," Steve said, and Bucky chuckled. 

"Uh," the driver furrowed his eyebrows. "Oh okay. Have fun in Iowa."

"What do you have planned for the rest of the day?" Steve found himself asking a mundane question. 

"Ah, y'know. Probably explore the city a bit, get my other uniform cleaned in the meantime."

"Other uniform?" 

"Postal worker," the cab driver smiled, and winked at Steve.

The letter. 

"Safe trip," the driver smiled, waved briefly, and got back in his car before driving off.

* * *

Grand central was busy. Busier than usual, and all the numbers in front of Steve started to blend. Sounds of people's laughter, excited squeals of joy that erupted from people's mouths when they saw each other, the idle sounds of people eating. It was all blending until it was one big buzzing sound in his ears. 

"Hey," Bucky pulled Steve out of his thoughts.

"Do you know which train we have to take?"

Steve looked around. "No, no I don't. Let me check with a clerk. Maybe they'll have some idea."

Steve walked up to the golden clock that was situated in the center of the building. The clerks were on their phones checking out the latest report, coming from the radio. "What's going on in the news?"

"The CEO of that company - _Franklin & Nobel_ I think it's called was murdered. _I_ think it's an inside job while Cindy thinks it was a calculated attack by a group of hit men."

"Did you see how many other people died?! It can't be possible," Cindy said from the other side. 

"Once a full report comes out then we can argue," the clerk said. He turned back to Steve. "I'm calling bet's on inside job still."

Steve didn't know what to say. It was already out in the news. He looked back at Bucky - his hands in his pockets, hat down low on his face. "Do you know where the train to upstate New York is located?"

"How far upstate? Peekskill? Fishkill, upstate?"

"I forgot." 

"Can't help you then, man. If I have a destination, then I get help you get going where you need to be." 

Steve chewed the inside of his lip. "I have to get to a train with the passcode -" he paused. Either the clerk was someone from the future, or he would risk sounding like an idiot. "A train with the passcode 2424948."

The clerk raised his eyebrows. Steve didn't know what that meant. "Ah," the clerk flipped a few pages. "Track 133. Basement, all the way down and on your left." 

"Thank you."

"Thank _you_."

Steve nodded and walked away, hearing Cindy and the other clerk argue about the murder of Alexander Pierce. 

* * *

The track was dark and dusty, and there was nothing to truly light their way. 

"Are you sure they led you the right way?" Bucky asked. 

"No," Steve answered as he kept walking into the darkness. As Bucky trailed along, a light - one by one - turned on to guide their path, until they reached gate. Steve noticed a pin pad - a bit too advanced for the surroundings of the area, and entered in the numbers that were given from his communicator. Grinding sounds echoed throughout the building and eventually the gate in front opened. 

More lights turned on, letting the view of the train in front of them become clearer. "Here it is," Steve mentioned.

"This is the spaceship?"

"No," Steve chuckled. "This is what will get us to the pod." He stood by a door and it automatically opened. A conductor poked his head out from the door. 

"Well, we meet again, Steve," the conductor mentioned. 

"Do you know like, everyone in the city?" Bucky asked.

"More people I guess are from my time that expected," Steve answered, as he stepped onto the train, still holding the quilt. 

Bucky didn't follow. Steve turned around.

"I...I don't know what to do," Bucky lightly said. 

"Come with me."

Bucky shifted his weight on his feet. "What if..."

"What if...what?"

"I don't know. What if I die? What if this is a mistake?" Bucky questioned. What if me being taken out of the timeline is truly just me being locked up for the rest of my life?"

"I can't let you go. I will not let you go," Steve held out a hand, extending it outside of the door, hoping Bucky would hold onto it tight. 

"What about traveling? Could I die?"

"It's a risk, but...everything is a risk, Bucky. You survived so many years under control. Can you take this risk with me?" Bucky was silent. "It's your choice. I'm not going to force you to tell you what to do, but in another life, I hope that a Steve could help you, because he has failed you so many times before. So is your choice now, or later?"


	26. Chapter 26

Bucky took Steve's hand, and walked onto the train. Steve smiled. It was warm, and loving. He leaned forward and gave Bucky a kiss. They both found their seats. 

"Alright, get comfy, we have a trip ahead of us," the conductor said as he leaned against a pole, before heading to another car. 

"I have a blanket," Steve held up the quilt. "Are you okay?"

"Not used to facing my own mortality, to be quite honest," Bucky replied. "But, I am happy I am facing it with you though."

"Those who face death together, stay together. Is that how the saying goes?" Steve laughed. 

"I don't think so, but I like it. Also this quilt."

"What about it? Too scratchy?"

"No, it's perfect," Bucky smiled. "It reminds me of the one my mom gave me when I was a kid. Pattern and all." 

"Almost like it was fate."

"Almost," Bucky smirked, and the train lurched into movement, going to places unknown.

* * *

It was hours later, the sun was fully set, and when the train wasn't in some secluded underground area, the moon was able to shine some light as well. The screeching sound of metal on metal was enough to wake both of them up, before the train came to a halt. 

"Alright, we're here," the conductor said, as Steve and Bucky rubbed their eyes. "You're going to have to enter this code so listen carefully. This is something that has been augmented to the original one for your extra passenger. The code is 4713."

"4713," Steve repeated. 

"Well. That's it," the conductor said as he placed his hands in his pocket. 

"That's it?" Steve responded. 

"Yep. The gate will be to your right."

"How long has it been for you?" 

"Twenty years, and haven't looked back." 

"What about your family?"

"Don't have one in the future. I have on now. What about you?" the conductor looked at Bucky. 

"I don't have one here. They're all gone. I'm hoping to start anew."

"Good luck, to the both of you." Both Bucky and Steve gathered themselves and got off the train, and onto the platform that Steve recognized. They both followed the yellow lines to the back door. 

**_CODE: ___?_ **

Steve entered the four digit number. Gears moved behind the door, creaking and shifting, until the door popped open. The metal pod stood before the both of them, lit up. 

"Wow," Bucky said. "You were telling the truth."

Steve smiled as he looked at Bucky. "Not quite the Iowa you expected, huh?"

"Not at all." 

Steve opened the door to the pod. It looked different. Bigger. Steve didn't want to think about the mechanics too much, or his head would hurt. He already knew what he was about to entail. Steve stepped in and Bucky followed. Bucky sat down first, and Steve strapped him in before giving him a kiss. 

"Am I going to die?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. That's okay?"

"No. But. I want to leave." 

"Okay," Steve smiled, and walked back to his seat, and buckled up, leaving the quilt underneath his feet. Steve punched in the code once again, and a humming started. It got louder and louder, until it was the only thing that they could hear. Steve felt light. Lighter than a feather. His body vibrated, and started to what could only feel like blossoming. His mind and body connected and disassociated, and could only imagine what Bucky could be feeling at this moment. 

His body felt like it was separating. 

Turning.

 _Twisting_. 

Feeling like he was all around the pod and nowhere in between. 

Until...he could only hear the quick panting of Bucky on the other side. "I'm going to be sick." 

"You survived." 

"Yeah, oh my _God,_ I'm alive. I'm alive, you're alive. I'm here. With you. I'm here." 

"You _lived,"_ Steve unbuckled himself from the seat and almost ran up to the other man and grabbed his face, giving him a long kiss. A kiss that Bucky needed to ground himself. "You're here, and breathing. We lived. We got you out of the timeline." 

The door hissed open to see two people standing outside the door, hands on their heads, looking like it was the most stressful day they had encountered. "Hello?"

"Steve?!" Natasha " _Steve?!_ Holy shit. Sam, get two canisters of 21st air." 

"Two?" Sam questioned.

"There's another person in the Centrifuge."

* * *

Steve's eyes fluttered open, and groaned as he lay on the bed. The alarm by his bed sounded off, and he rolled over to turn it off. "God, I hate these things. I can't wait until we're back and we can experience no more alarms." Steve adjusted himself in his bed, and sat up, confused. The room This room wasn't his room back then or now. It was the room he was put in when he first came to Dynamos. He looked over to see Bucky in bed, next to him, sleeping peacefully. Steve got out slowly, and entered the plexiglass pod, letting himself feel the texture of the fake grass between his toes. "Hello?" Steve knocked on the door. "Sam! Natasha!"

The two of them took their time to get to the window.

" _Hi! Steve!"_ Natasha stated. " _Happy new year."_

 _"_ How long have we been out of it?" 

" _Few days._ "

"Days?!"

" _Time travel really fucks with you, huh?"_ Natasha joked. " _It's normal. I'm shocked your friend survived."_

"Honestly, me too." 

" _Only so many explanations can be attributed to it."_

 _"_ No medical tests." 

" _Never said that there were going to be,"_ Natasha tried to calm Steve down. 

"Okay. Okay. Sam? _"_

" _I'm here! I'm here,"_ Sam said as he jogged around a corner with a cup of water. " _You're here and you're alive! With another person! From the past! Man, I have so many questions for him. Like about, cats, history, you name it."_

"I think he needs a few days before he can start your new encylopedia." 

" _Totally get it."_

 _"_ So?"

" _So?"_

 _"_ So? Did it work? Or was all my work for nothing?"

" _Well, the bubble was encrypted well, so nothing that affected us at the moment, but as soon as you head out that door, you will know."_

"Oh. Okay," Steve said idly, and started to pace. "When can we get out?"

" _Depends on the oxygen transition. You knew how it was."_

"Vaguely but yeah." 

" _It's gonna take time, but you and him will do great. You superseded the loophole. We didn't receive any notice other than the blaring alarm that two people were coming back."_

_"Steve, it's gonna take time."_

_"_ As long as I am safe, I think taking time is completely fine with me." Bucky said from the door of the bedroom. His hair was tousled, and he held the quilt over his body, like a cape. He padded over to Steve, only to have Steve hug him closely. 

"Bucky, I want you to meet fate; Sam Wilson, and Natasha Romanoff," Steve said.

" _An honor,"_ Sam smiled. 

"Thank you," Bucky smiled, and Steve smiled back. In the reflection of the plexiglass, Steve could see the reflection of **_S.A.R.A.H_** **,** waving. Steve looked back and smiled, gave a wave back and turned his attention back to Sam and Natasha. 

" _Alright. I'll give you two a few hours before we start revamping you two to get back to normal life, as much as it is possible with how much has changed,"_ Natasha said.

" _Do you want to tell them about the soundproof button or should we just implement it ourselves?"_ Sam chucked. 

" _It's next to your lamp, third button down,"_ Natasha winked. " _But remember, a few hours."_

"Well, _I_ think we have all the time in the world," Steve smirked. 

"All the time in the world, with no looking back," Bucky responded, smiling, and placing light kiss on Steve's mouth. 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to first thank you for reading until the end of this story. It was a long journey, but I am so happy with this. I want to thank Alexander for his constant incredible work that blows me away every time. Lastly, I want to thank the NASBB mods for being so wonderful with everything. I hope they continue this challenge again next year, as I am eager to join again. 
> 
> Until my next story, be well and stay safe. 
> 
> Much love,   
> WishingWell44


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